Thicker Than Water
by Mistress Of The Macabre
Summary: Max has convinced Lucy to become the 'mother' of his family, and things are looking a little difficult- Sam is struggling with his newfound abilities, and the only person he can trust talks only to Star. An uneasy peace has settled over Santa Carla, only for Max to send the waters of temptation rippling again- what happens, pray tell, when the vampire sets his eyes on- a daughter?
1. Chapter 1

"Nobody likes me…everybody hates me…guess I'll go eat worms…fat ones, long ones, short ones, skinny ones, ones that squiggle and squirm…"

"I can't believe I'm listening to this," she mumbled, and buried her face deeper into the leather seat. Normally, she didn't mind long car trips with her family, but this one, at seventeen hours, was just too long for her. She probably wouldn't have minded so much if it were just her, Robert, and mom- but no, the stepfather had to come along. He now sang the worm song joyfully with her nine-year-old stepbrother, Robert, and soon afterwards, her mother joined in.

Whitney sighed. It wasn't easy spending seventeen hours _in a row _with the man who replaced your dad. Not that there was anything wrong with Chris- he just wasn't _her _father.

The sun bore down on them, the back of her thighs were sticky with sweat, and her hair, normally naturally frizzy, clung to her like a helmet. She would have listened to her latest tape, but no, that had run out hours ago.

This was going to be a long seventeen hours.

Her stepbrother, Robert, poked her in the shoulder playfully. He was unnaturally short for his age, and his hair was constantly falling into his eyes. "Sing with us, Whitney," he cooed, his small frame rocking back and forth in excitement.

"No thanks," she mumbled, and tried to force herself deeper into the seat. Robert continued jabbing her repeatedly.

"Come on, Whitney, please?"

Whitney shook her head vigorously. To her mortification, Chris joined in. "Whitney, you've sulked in the car for hours. Sing with us." When she shook her head stubbornly for a third time, he smiled kindly, his eyes crinkling in the corners, and said: "Come on, Whitney. It'll go faster if you do something a little fun."

She sighed. "Do I have to?"

Rob, Christopher, and her mother nodded vigorously.

Whitney sighed again. "Okay," she said reluctantly, and then smiled brilliantly. "Don't tell any of the kids around here, okay? I don't want people to think I'm a loser before they realise I _am_ one!" Her lips quivered at the corners, in the same way that they always did when she was joking.

"Our lips are sealed," everyone agreed.

Whitney took a deep breath, and began to sing along.

"Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I'll go eat worms…fat ones, long ones, short ones, skinny ones…ones that squiggle and squirm…"

**XxX**

As the sky began to darken, so did the energy levels of everyone in the car. Robert was snoring loudly in the backseat next to Whitney, his head drooping down low on his chest, his assortment of comic books forgotten on the floor. Chris was dozing in the passenger seat, and Andrea, Whitney's mother, was feeling the strain herself. Only she and Whitney were still semi-conscious, and Whitney was hardly old enough to take over for her mother.

But she didn't think that they were too far away from Santa Carla. Surely they'd be nearing the coastal town any minute now?

"Are we nearly there?" Whitney asked tiredly, fixing her mother with half-lidded eyes. It was as if she'd been reading her mother's mind.

Andrea stifled a yawn. "Oh, I hope so," she replied. "I'm afraid I can't stay awake for much longer."

Whitney gave her a tired grin. "Take it easy, mom. I can drive."

She laughed. "Sure, missy. And you can fill in the insurance forms when we crash."

Her daughter stuck out her tongue, and for the next few minutes, the car was filled with drained silence. This car trip had taken a lot out of them.

Rob would want to buy more comics, surely. Andrea was sure that he'd re-read all of his comics (yes, even the new ones!) at least five times during this trip. She'd have to ask around Santa Carla to see if there was a place where he could spend all his pocket money on some new ones. Whitney would want some new tapes. And Chris- well, he deserved something. Some red wine, maybe?

Andrea was just considering pulling over for a quick doze when their battered Dodge went over the crest of the hill, revealing a large, tackily-painted sign that boasted the words: _Santa Carla- come visit the Boardwalk tonight! _

As soon as she saw it, Andrea felt considerably better. They were here. She tugged at Chris's sleeve tentatively. "Chris, wake up."

He yawned loudly and rubbed his eyes, appearing, for a moment, like a child. Andrea smiled at him indulgently. "Wassamatter, babe?" he asked, voice croaky with sleep.

"We're here."

"Really?" Whitney asked suddenly. She sighed with relief when she saw her mothers' nod. Delighted, she unpeeled her hair from her shoulders, and attempted to fluff it up. Now that something good had actually happened today, she decided that she didn't look so bad after all. Her hair was still a little damp, but that was nothing she couldn't fix.

Almost as if it were sensing her delight, the air conditioner kicked back into life, filling the car with its luscious cool breeze. Even Rob managed to break himself out of the trance he'd been in, and smiled impishly at his suddenly laughing, joyful family.

"I can't believe we're here," Whitney said, almost in wonder.

"Why?" Chris asked playfully. "Did you think we'd never get there?"

"Well, maybe," she said truthfully, suitably embarrassed.

Andrea pointed towards the highway. "Look, guys! There's the movers' truck!"

"So we didn't lose them after all," Chris huffed. "They could have waited for us."

"Well, at least we found them eventually," Andrea reasoned. She shook out her hair- like Whitney, she'd had trouble managing it on such a hot day.

As they drove deeper into the heart of Santa Carla, it became very evident that the Boardwalk was the main attraction- hundreds, possibly thousands, of people- young, old, rich, or poor- were lined along the streets, chatting animatedly to others, weaving back and forth to music, or screaming with delight on rides. Rob jumped up to the window, round face apoplectic with excitement. "Look, mommy- rides!"

"They do look good, don't they, Rob?" Chris chuckled, ruffling his son's hair affectionately. Rob nodded vigorously, jumping up and down in excitement.

"Daddy, mommy, can we go?"

Andrea frowned. "I don't know, Rob; there's an awful lot of unpacking to do…"

"I'll take him," Whitney offered. "I have some tapes I'd like to buy anyway, so I might as well take him along to get some comics and a ride or two." She paused, brown eyes speculative. "Come on, please?"

Andrea sighed, and looked to Chris for support. "What do you think, Chris?"

Her husband shrugged. "I don't see why not."

Both Whitney and Rob erupted with hoots of delight. Rob resumed his bouncing.

Andrea raised an eyebrow. "Hey! AFTER you've unpacked, okay?"

**XxX**

The Boardwalk was even more packed when one actually entered it; Whitney and Rob were almost swallowed by it. The Boardwalk was not merely a strip of pavement where assorted rides, stores and knickknacks were; it was a living thing, a gigantic mass, and unsurprisingly, Rob was scared to enter it.

"It didn't look this busy before," he whimpered. Whitney squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"Come on, it ain't that scary." She pulled him deeper into the undulating mass. "You said you wanted a new comic book, right?" He nodded, and she grinned.

"Well, let's go ask around. Somebody's sure to know."

However, that was easier said than done. The Boardwalkers didn't want to stop for a seventeen-year-old and her stepbrother. They ran this way and that, and a couple of times, Whitney almost lost Rob entirely. After that one particular incident, they clung to each other with an iron grip.

Rob was right. The Boardwalk _hadn't _been this busy before. In fact, as the night progressed, the number of people on rides seemed to grow steadily. It would be very easy to get lost in a place like this.

More than once, Whitney and Rob found themselves pressed against the fence, so as to not get crushed by the oncoming mass of Boardwalkers. Moving ahead was a difficult task- finding a comic book store seemed damn near impossible at that point.

Eventually, though, Whitney could stand it no longer. She tapped a passing girl on the shoulder. "Hey, excuse me?"

The girl, miraculously, stopped to stare at them. She was wearing about fifteen pounds too much makeup, and was about thirty pounds overweight. Nevertheless, she _had _stopped for them, so petty things like appearances were pretty low on Whitney's list right now. "Yeah?"

Whitney flushed. "I- I was wondering if you could help us," she stammered. "You see, my brother and I are looking for a place where he can buy a comic book- you wouldn't happen to know any places around, would you?"

"Oh, sure," the girl said, rolling her eyes. "There's the Frog place, if you're looking for any old comic book. They're pretty creepy there, though."

"Thanks!" Whitney grinned. "Would you be willing to show us the way?"

The girl rolled her eyes again. "New to town, huh? Give yourselves a week here, and you'll know where everything is in Santa Carla."

**XxX**

The comic book store was part of a small plaza, and was small and cramped and smelled faintly of mildew. From what Whitney could see, there were very few people in the store. In fact, it was kind of creepy. She really couldn't say why. There was nothing ominous about the place- it was well-lit, with bright, neon signs, shelves upon shelves of comic books, and she could hear the familiar tune of _"I Still Believe"_ in the distance.

Rob, however, clearly didn't feel the same way. "Can we go in?!" he shouted excitedly, bouncing up and down once again. "Please, Whitney, please?!"

"Sure," she said resignedly, and he tugged her into the store.

She had been wrong before- there was one person, aside from the two store attendants, inside. He appeared to be several years younger than her, with short brown hair and an eccentric style that made her grimace. He was poring over the _Batman _selection of comics.

She flushed, as this strange boy looked up from his comic, and glanced at her and her brother. Then he was buried into his comic again.

"Over here, Whitney!" Rob cried, and tugged her towards the horror section.

"Oh, Rob, not the horror comics," she groaned. "You _know_ they give you nightmares."

He pretended to be offended. "They do not!"

"Can we help you two at all?"

Whitney and Rob jerked in surprise, as the owner of the deep, gravelly drawl moved away from the front counter, where he had been murmuring quietly with another boy- were they brothers?

He was dressed oddly, Whitney decided, perhaps even in weirder clothes than _Batman _boy. He wore army-style pants, and a black t-shirt. A red bandana was yanked around his forehead- was he supposed to be Rambo?

Nevertheless, Rob wanted his comic, and he clearly was too surprised at Bandana Boys' appearance, so Whitney would have to do the talking. She stepped forward, and smiled. "Yeah, actually! My brother here was looking for a horror comic."

"Horror comics, huh?" Bandana Boy asked, and nodded seriously. "A wise choice, sir. I'm Edgar, by the way."

"And I'm Alan," the other boy at the front counter added.

"I'm Whitney," she said, somewhat lamely, "And this is my brother, Rob."

As she said this, she noticed the video tape store across the 'street'. _The biggest range of tapes in Santa Carla! _The sign read. She bent down to her brother. "Hey, Rob, would it be okay if I went across the street, over there?" she pointed to the video store. "I won't be long, and you can get your comic, okay?"

Rob was delighted. "Sure!" he exclaimed.

She ruffled his hair affectionately. "Thanks, little buddy." As she walked out, she called back to him: "Nothing _too _scary, okay?"

**XxX**

The store was even bigger and more impressive on the inside than she'd first thought. There were stacks of tapes, and many, many shelves full of them. There was also a gumball machine near the front desk, and when Whitney entered the store, the small woman who was obviously manning the desk looked up, and smiled.

"Hi!" she called, sounding genuinely happy to see her.

She grinned back, and gave the woman a half-wave.

Then Whitney was immersed in the tapes, and all other thoughts vanished from her mind. There was just so much here!

A door opened to her left, and a rather bulky man carrying some boxes snagged her elbow. "Oh! Excuse me," he said apologetically, and continued on his way. She could see that the topmost box was threating to fall over.

"Hey, are you okay, mister?" Whitney was offering to help before she knew it. What on earth was she thinking?! She never usually offered to help anyone; not because she was snobby, but because she was usually too quiet to even _try. _

"This top one's about to…"

And she tugged it off the tower, so that it wouldn't fall. The woman at the front desk clapped her hands together and smiled delightedly. "Good save!"

"Thanks," Whitney muttered.

The man adjusted his lopsided glasses, and smiled embarrassedly at her. "Thanks very much for that," he said. "I really thought I could handle it…"

Suddenly, the low thrum of motorbikes sounded. The man frowned, as the sound was cut off, and was promptly followed by a curious jingling noise. Whitney hastily put the box down; she wasn't in the most glamorous of positions.

And four teenage boys entered the store.

The first had hair so bleached that it was even whiter than his pale, pale face; his whiteness was in stark contrast to the sea of black that whirled around him from the neck down. The second boy was dark, the painted leopard on his jacket glimmering slightly under the fluorescent lights; the third was tall and blonde, and he seemed to be constantly chewing something. The fourth boy, who was easily the smallest of the group, wore a jacket that appeared to be nothing more than patches sewn together, his baby face forming an impish grin.

The man with the glasses frowned, as did the woman. Whitney flushed, as the first boy's eyes slid over her, disinterested; the only other teen to ever look her way as they sailed past the man and woman at the front desk, openly flaunting how they clearly did not fit in, was the baby-faced one, whose dark eyes glittered with mirth.

Then they were busying themselves with the numerous tapes, and Whitney felt her heart sink. They were hanging around the tapes that _she _wanted! But she wasn't going to go anywhere near those boys- their flamboyance and obvious arrogance put her on edge. They looked like the kind of people that would rob little old ladies for fun.

"Uh, honey?"

Whitney jerked her gaze from the delinquents, who were hooting over something apparently hilarious. The small woman with her cropped, orange hair looked concerned. Her nametag read _'Lucy'._ "Did you need help finding anything, dear?"

"We have the biggest stock of video tapes in all of Santa Carla," the man said hopefully, giving her a cheesy grin. She noted that his nametag read _'Max'. _

Whitney opened her mouth to answer, and found her eyes unwillingly sliding over to the four boys, who had their backs turned, thankfully. "I…no thanks," she mumbled. "I'll come back later."

"Honey, are you sure?" Lucy asked, casting a worried glance at the boys. They were preoccupied, hassling some poor little boy by the pinball machine. As she watched, the leader ruffled the kid's hair teasingly, giving him his usual snarky grin.

Whitney straightened, and smiled. "Yes, thanks. Would it be okay if I came back tomorrow?"

"Sure!" Both Max and Lucy appeared thrilled at the thought.

As Whitney left the store, feeling somewhat unsettled, she didn't realise that the boys were watching her, the baby-faced one in particular.

**XxX**

As the lovely girl's heeled boot left the store, Lucy Emerson looked sideways at her husband. His expression was thoughtful. Instantly, Lucy was stricken with worry. She hadn't seen Max look this way, not since…

"I know _you, _Max," she whispered, eyes wide, "You surely can't be thinking…"

The white-haired male stared at Max, uncomprehending. The others were ignorant of this silent battle of wills.

To Lucy's horror, Max began to smile.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day was wonderful; the sun blazed fiercely in a cerulean sky. The breeze, when it stirred into life, was lush and cool, easing many people's tender sunburn. Children ran naked in their front yards, dashing in and out of sprinklers, screaming happily. Men and women lounged lazily at the beach, looking supremely unconcerned about the bothers of life.

It was very much the same atmosphere at the Thompson household. Whitney, just a few months shy of eighteen, was obviously not running through the front yard naked, but she took the liberty of lounging in the front yard, with a pitcher of ice-cold lemonade and headphones over her ears. Not wanting to go to the beach and risk embarrassing herself before she started her final semester at college, she was more than happy to lie in the front yard, clad in only a bikini. Maybe she'd be lucky enough to get a tan before she started college.

Mom and Chris had gone shopping, and Rob was somewhere inside, probably reading that new comic he'd brought home from the Frog place. She hadn't checked on him just yet- knowing him, it was probably something _way _too scary for him.

Rob just liked to bite off way more than he could chew, she thought fondly, taking a sip from the pitcher. It was nice and sweet- just the way she liked it. Stepfather or not, Chris sure knew how to brew his lemonade.

She sighed happily, and was just about to turn up the volume on her Walkman when a shadow fell over her. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell that it was Rob- she'd been around him long enough to tell when he was trying not to laugh. He always made this one little squeaking sound, as if he just couldn't keep quiet, and had to share his mischief with someone, even if that person was the person he was trying to pull a fast one on.

"What's up, Rob?" she asked, removing her headphones; she was getting sick of listening to the same songs, anyway. She'd have to go back to Max and Lucy's store sometime soon.

Rob's round face loomed into view. He was grinning from ear to ear, and she wondered dimply if his face was going to split in half. As usual, he was bouncing up and down excitedly. "Check out my new comic!" he shouted, doing a little jig right then and there, twirling his arms around wildly. "It's really awesome!"

Whitney sat up, and sighed. "Rob, can't it wait? I'm trying to get a tan," she complained, running a hand through her hair. In the sunlight, it was hard to tell what colour it was- brown-blonde, if she had to guess.

Rob poked her in the shoulder. "No!" he proclaimed, "It can't!" And he began tugging her, trying in vain to haul his sister to her feet; he dug in his heels and pulled determinedly, despite Whitney outweighing him by more than a few pounds. "Aw, come on, Whitney! It's really awesome!"

"Fine," she muttered, allowing him to haul her upright; he staggered a little at her sudden consent. "I just hope it isn't one of those horror comics."

"What's wrong with horror comics?" he asked curiously, padding ahead of her, eager to lead the way to his beloved prize.

"They give you nightmares, remember?"

Rob shook his head seriously. "Not this one. This one's awesome."

"It's definitely a horror comic," Whitney muttered, low enough so that her stepbrother wouldn't hear.

As they approached Rob's new room, a rather large number with his favourite four-poster already set up in the middle, Whitney's dread grew. It was definitely a horror comic. Mom was going to freak out. She hated Rob buying things that scared him- he was, after all, only nine.

He was going to get in trouble for sure.

Whitney put her hands on her hips. "Alright, where is it?" she demanded. "Let me see the damage."

"Jeez, chill out, would ya?" Rob was digging under his pillow for the book. He'd obviously been reading it before bed last night- not a good idea, considering how sensitive he was. He'd gotten nightmares from watching the news before. "Here it is!" He beamed proudly, and held out his prize to his sister, who took it reluctantly.

She glanced at the cover, and groaned.

_Killer Vampires._

"Rob, _really?" _

"What?" he argued. "It's really cool."

She flipped the book open to a random page, and grimaced slightly at the extensive amount of gore splattered on the page. Throats were being ripped open, people were screaming, blood spurted as if from a fountain. She rolled her eyes.

"It's a _horror comic, _Rob."

"So?"

"So Mom's going to go ballistic when she sees this." She waved the gory scene in his face. "I mean, look at this! This is horrible! Did Edgar and Alan really let you buy this?"

He grinned. "Nope. I got it for free."

"_What?" _

He shrugged. "I dunno, maybe no-one wanted to buy it or something. They said it was a really good comic, and that it was…what was the word? An…instruction…m-manual?"

"An instruction manual?" Well, that was weird. "For what?"

"What else?" Rob said impatiently. "For killing vampires."

She laughed. "Oh, Rob, it's already gone to your head! Vampires aren't real."

"That's not what they said," he argued. "They said that Santa Carla's crawling with 'em."

Evidently Edgar and Alan Frog were out of their mind. What on earth possessed them, to tell a little boy all this awful rubbish? Maybe she ought to have a word with them later. She didn't want Rob spouting all this rot before he started school. She had a feeling he wouldn't make many friends if he was screaming about vampires.

She suddenly thought of an idea. Still laughing, she curled her fingers into 'claws'. "Don't talk about vampires in front of me," she giggled, "Because I _am _one!"

"No way!" Rob was enjoying himself, going along with the joke. "Where are your fangs, then?"

"If I catch you," she said seriously, and flexed her 'claws' again, "I'll show you!"

And she launched herself after him, growling playfully. He squealed and took off, waving his arms around delightedly. She chased him, making sure to keep at a certain pace, not wanting to catch him just yet. Maybe, if she tired him out, he'd be too tired to read that stupid comic today.

Out they ran, out into the sunshine, Rob ducking and diving around her, dodging her wild grabs, laughing hysterically as he did so. Once, her 'claws' scraped his shoe heel, and he squealed like a wild thing, and around and around they ran, and soon Whitney was also laughing hysterically, enjoying every minute of it.

At some point during the chase, they knocked the pitcher of lemonade over.

**XxX**

Lucy Emerson's powder-blue mustang crawled along the busy side streets, the aircon put up all the way, and with a selection of magazines, mainly about knitting and crocheting, piled in the seat beside her. The car had been a gift from Max- as a man with lots of money to spend, and now a wife on which he could dote endlessly- he'd insisted on it, arguing that her battered ute was simply not up to the task of carrying the supplies needed for her new extended family.

She supposed his reasoning was justified. After all, it wasn't just her and Sam and Michael anymore, was it?

Though the day outside was lovely, Lucy was discontent. She wanted to go home, and she had to drive slowly to avoid hitting the small children that dashed out in front of her, chasing runaway toys. At one point, she'd had to jam on the brakes to avoid slamming into a Dodge van that decided that it wanted to back out in front of her, without looking.

Lucy sighed, and fanned herself with one of her magazines. With her new job as a sales assistant, she could now afford to indulge herself a little.

As the mustang crawled along the road, grumbling softly at the speed at which it was going, Lucy looked toward the house that had, until very recently, been vacated for quite some time. There was a little boy and a teenaged girl running around outside in the front yard. The girl seemed somewhat familiar to Lucy, and as the older woman stared, she realised that she'd met that girl before. It was that lovely girl who'd helped Max the other night!

Her face broke out in an indulgent smile, as she watched the girl chase after her brother in nothing more than a bikini. She really was quite something- or she would have been…

Lucy's smile faded as suddenly as it had appeared, as her thoughts darkened. Admittedly, her thoughts were usually cheerful, bright blue skies with no clouds at all, but now…they were dark, twisting, and pulsing- there was no _sky. _Only black, heavy clouds that threatened to suffocate her.

Placing the magazine down, she placed both hands on the steering wheel, and drove on.

**XxX**

"What if I don't like it there?" Whitney was pacing back and forth across the den, worry etched into every inch of her young face. Rob was somewhere in his room, immersed in that dumb comic again, and Chris and Andrea were sitting on the couch, trying in vain to watch a movie, a task that now seemed impossible.

Whitney was meant to start college tomorrow. And, like every other teenager before her, she was nervous as all hell. Once she was there, she'd never had trouble making friends at school, but it was the actual _getting there _that frightened her. She didn't like being put out of her comfort zone, Andrea thought tiredly, and starting at a new school was very well putting her out of her safety zone.

"Honey, you'll be-" Andrea started, but was once again intercepted by nothing more than teenage angst.

"What if I don't make friends there, mom?" She asked shrilly, throwing her hands in the air, looking utterly lost. "What if they think I'm some kind of freak?"

"It's normal to be nervous about starting at a new school, love," Chris said, glancing to Andrea for support. Nodding vigorously, she placed a hand on her daughter's forearm, halting her uneasy pacing. Discomfort and concern radiated from every inch of her body, and Andrea found a wave of love and concern for her daughter wash over her.

"Honey, you're gorgeous, you're smart, and you're good with people," she said gently. "You'll be fine."

"But I don't know anyone here!"

"We just moved here, Whitney," Chris pointed out. "I'd be surprised if you _did _know someone already."

"But- but-"

"No buts," Andrea said firmly, drawing her daughter into a fierce hug. "You'll knock them dead, girl. You'll set their minds ablaze with that killer smile of yours."

Whitney giggled. "Really, mom? _Really?" _

"Anything to get a smile out of you," she chuckled. "Remember when you were a kid? People thought your crooked smile was so cute!"

"I was missing my front teeth, mom," she argued. Andrea looked at Chris, and they shared a knowing glance. They'd successfully gotten her off track, and that was good. Once she focused on something, she'd keep stressing about it until someone- or something- distracted her. It had led to many arguments, back in the days where Chris had not existed.

"So? You still have a lovely smile," Andrea retorted, and squeezed her daughter hard, so hard that she squeaked. "Now, off to bed," she commanded. "It's getting late, and you have to be up fairly early to stun all those people with that smile of yours!"

"Okay," she sighed, and even gave Chris a hug. "Night."

"Goodnight," her parents said in unison.

**XxX**

Lucy was just thumbing to the final page of her knitting magazine when she heard the all-too-familiar rumble of Max's car approaching. Despite her dark thoughts, she forced her lips into a smile, as her husband entered, his white dog Thorn astride him. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and she instantly knew what he had been doing. She supressed a shiver; soon enough, surely, she'd be doing the same thing.

"Hullo, love," he called cheerfully, and she returned his offered kiss willingly enough.

"Hey there," she whispered happily, not wanting to disturb Sam, who was sleeping upstairs, "How was work, honey?"

"Good, good," he smiled. "How's the car running?"

"Well, thank you." It was running perfectly- that was the problem. She'd gotten so accustomed to her Dodge's wheezing that the absence of it felt…strange.

Max observed her with those intent eyes of his. He could read her like a book, he'd said. Her father had been able to do the same. He frowned. "What's wrong, Lucy?"

"Wrong?" she asked, her voice straining. "Nothing's wrong, Max."

He cupped her face in his hands. "I can read you like a book, Lucy Emerson," he said flatly, and kissed her nose. "Something's obviously bothering you. Tell an old bear like me- please?"

"You're not old," she said, trying to drive him off tactic. He saw through it instantly, as he always did.

"Maybe not," he agreed, and leaned closer, so that they were almost nose to nose. "Come on, Lucy, what's the matter?"

She sighed, not sure how to put the mass of writhing dark clouds into words. "I don't know, Max…"

"Lucy," he said warningly, still smiling. "Please tell me."

"…Is a Daughter really necessary, Max?" The words were out before she could stop them. Max raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I just assumed…don't you feel overwhelmed sometimes, Lucy?"

Her eyes widened. "Sorry?"

"Well," he said, sounding more than reasonable, "With your Sam and Michael- and my Boys- romping around the house, don't you think it's time for a woman's touch?"

"What am I, mouldy bread?" Lucy was insulted. True, there was only one of her, because Star hardly counted as an associate- she spent most of her time sulking in her bedroom- but the house was hardly devoid of a 'woman's touch.'

Max laughed gently. "No, Lucy, you're not- not even close to it, I'm afraid. But you must get lonely sometimes. I really do think that having a Daughter will ease some of the tension I'm feeling around here lately."

_Tension? Well, what did he expect? He wasn't exactly Michael and Sam's favourite person, even before this all happened. _

"I…don't know, Max. She's such a lovely girl. I don't want her turning out like…" her voice trailed off; however, her meaning was all too obvious.

His smile widened. "What? You don't want her turning out like one of my Boys?"

Mortified, she nodded. He laughed at her outright.

"Oh, Lucy, it'll be fine! Really, it will." And he kissed her again. When his mouth left hers, he stood up abruptly. Her heart accelerated, and she felt the blood leave her face promptly.

"Max, what're you-"

"I have to go," he murmured quietly, a little smile twisting his lips. "I'll be back soon."

"Max-"

He was out the door again before she had time to finish calling his name.

**XxX**

The sea was unusually quiet tonight; if Max cared enough to listen, he could hear the drunken hoots and catcalls from the Surf Nazis on the strip of beach below Hudson's Bluff. They were a nuisance, but since the beach itself was not out of bounds to the average citizen, Max couldn't do anything about it. His Boys would undoubtedly attempt to pick on them later.

Max crept along the edge of the Bluff, carefully picking his way across the weathered rock. There was an entrance to a cave somewhere around here…

Suddenly, the tempting aroma of Chinese food filled his nostrils. The older man turned, to see a familiar patchwork jacket underneath what appeared to be several boxes of Chinese takeout. The numerous bits and bobs adorning the jacket jingled happily.

Max, despite the precarious position he was in, stood abruptly. He always liked seeing his Boys, and it was rare to see this one particular Boy alone.

"Marko, hello!"

Marko's familiar impish smile appeared from behind the pile of takeout boxes. Baby-faced, blonde, and with a curly mullet, many people underestimated Marko. Somewhat of a quiet jester, he had always interested Max.

"Hey," he greeted. He staggered slightly under the weight of the food. David was obviously starving. Max reached out towards his Boy.

"Need any help there?"

"I got it," Marko grunted. As he approached the cliff, Max promptly stepped aside, careful not to fall into the black waters below.

"After you," he said calmly.

"Cheers," came Marko's reply. Max smiled. Marko was a man of few words, but not in the way that one might think- a way that portrayed him as dumb.

The smile still touching upon his face, Max followed Marko into the darkness.

**XxX**

The cave was fuller than he'd expected. He could hear the rest of his Boys chattering aimlessly, but unless he was mistaken, he could also hear the likes of Laddie, Star, and Michael. _That _was unusual.

Ahead of him, Marko began calling to his brethren through the tower of Chinese food.

"Feeding time! Look who we've got here, boys!"

As Max stepped into the cave, the scene became clear to him; Dwayne, Paul, and Michael were smoking by the collapsed fountain, Paul's hooting quieted for once. Laddie was nowhere to be seen. Star was spread-eagled on the battered four-poster in a secluded corner, her face expressionless, and eyes empty. David, his David, his eldest, was slumped in an armchair, apparently asleep. Marko stepped aside to let Max pass, and, as he attempted to unload the stacks of Chinese, Max let a cold smile twist his face.

"Hello, Boys," he called cheerfully.

All eyes were instantly on the older man, and he revelled a little in the attention. He loved Lucy to bits, but there was something satisfying about seeing Santa Carla's most notorious delinquents quailing under his gaze.

Michael Emerson's dark eyes bored into Max's skull with a ferocity that had, at one point, intrigued his eldest, David. Well, then. Lucy hadn't been lying- Michael still despised him. Max inwardly shrugged. He didn't care much for Michael- he had seen weakness in those eyes where David had not.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Paul, with his wild blonde hair, held his joint in one hand, and performed a rather ridiculous half-wave with the other. "How's it going, old timer?" If Marko was the quiet jester, Paul was the opposite. It was a rare moment to see the boy semi-quiet; he enjoyed making noise, and didn't care what others thought of him.

Dwayne, the strong, silent type of the Boys, nodded at Max over the impressive length of his joint. Obviously prepared by Dwayne himself, it was three times the normal size of any cigarette. His lips quirked at the corners, in a half-smile, half-grimace.

With a sharp intake of breath, David looked up; he hadn't been asleep, after all. His pale face went from feigned surprise to a look of absolute mirth. His lips curled into a smirk, and he placed the tips of his gloved fingers together, the picture of comfort. "Max," he drawled lazily, sounding like he was on the verge of laughing. Max couldn't understand David sometimes- when he was with his Boys, he seemed to find anything Max did amusing. "What can we do for you?"

Behind him, Marko had started unloading the second box of Chinese food.

Max kept the friendly smile on his face as he adjusted his glasses. "Actually, I'd like to talk to Star."

His words were met with pregnant silence and raised eyebrows. Max noted with some amusement that Paul's cigarette was in danger of setting his jacket alight. David seemed unsurprised; in fact, he began to slump back into his armchair, his bleached hair glowing slightly in the semi-darkness.

Star herself was obviously panic-stricken. Once a girl that held a lot of promise, she was as weak as Michael now. Hands clapped over her mouth, her eyes were like two large beacons, wide with fright. She'd never exactly taken to Max very well…

When none of the Boys replied, Max's mouth thinned, and he narrowed his eyes dangerously. "I'd like to talk to her. _Alone." _

Behind him, there was a sigh. Marko had evidently just finished unloading all the food. Well then. Max would just have to make sure that he wouldn't take too long- he didn't want to keep his Boys waiting. He noticed, but decided not to mention, how all eyes turned to David for support.

The teenager in question stood up abruptly. When he opened his eyes, they flared crimson- just for a moment, so quickly that Max wasn't entirely sure that it had even happened. "Okay, Boys, let's go," he snapped.

One by one, the Boys, and Michael, filed out of the room. The only one to ever turn back was David himself, and he raised a bleached eyebrow at the older man, blue eyes questioning. Max returned the stare evenly, and, when it became evident that neither was going to break the gaze, David snickered quietly. A genuine, teasing smile on his face, he too vacated the cave.

Now that the cave was empty, save for himself and Star, Max turned to the youngster, that same smile still on her face. Star was curled into a tight ball on her bed, her face buried into her pillow. As Max crept closer, she turned her face towards him. Her dark hair curled tenaciously over one side of her face- not that it mattered, in any case.

"What do you want?" she hissed quietly. The contempt rolling off of her in generous waves did not go unnoticed by Max- even if the girl was mute, as he had once believed, the look in her eyes was murderous. She hated Max, hated him with everything she had left- which, aside from Michael and Laddie- wasn't much.

Max settled his large frame on the aged four-poster. Star recoiled from him, her eyes wide and mistrusting. Wrapped in her shawl, she made it infinitely clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. That irritated the older man, but with some considerable effort, he managed to keep the disgust from his face.

He smiled at her, and his next words were fatherly. "Star, how long has it been since you've been around girls your own age?"

"What do you mean?" she demanded rudely. Max grinned, unfazed.

"Because I'd like you to do something for me. And you can't really say no, can you?"

When he next locked eyes with her, she screamed. Eyes glowing malevolently, spindly incisors bared between his lips, he was the perfect picture of the Devil himself.


	3. Chapter 3

The weather, in all its tranquillity, did _not _suit the mindset of neither Whitney nor Rob Thompson the next day. Both were a bundle of nerves, and not even a healthy dose of blood, gore, and fear could do anything to sate Rob's nervous energy- and Whitney's tapes, no matter how much she enjoyed the music, she could not lose herself in it. For every glorious crescendo there was, her anxiety about college swelled right along with it, to the point that her mood had taken a sour turn for the worse, and, though both she and her brother were ready, they didn't want to leave. Whitney had even pulled her hair up.

Chris, running around the house getting ready for his job interview, missed most of this sullenness. Andrea, however, who hadn't been employed for almost six years now, witnessed all of it, and, whilst she loved her children dearly, she wasn't putting up with this.

"Right," she snapped at her children, "This has _got _to stop. You're both brilliant, lovely kids- there's no way that you'll not get along with everyone at school. My God, you two aren't even there yet, so how can you say that it's going to be awful before you're even there?"

Rob, his round face slightly pale, looked like he was about to say something dangerous, something very likely to do with that awful comic that the Frog brothers had given him, and Whitney, sensing the danger, elbowed him roughly in the side. "We're just nervous," she assured her mother, her wide, brown eyes wide with sincerity. "I mean, I can't remember the last time I started at a new school- I was so young. It's going to be hard, because everyone's already got their groups, and, um, stuff, going."

Andrea sighed. She hated seeing her children like this. "I know it's going to be hard, kids, but don't be so negative- think of this as a chance to make new friends!"

Rob and Whitney glanced at each other, uncertain. What Whitney had said was true- they had left a cosy, comfortable life in Chicago, Illinois for a new one in Santa Carla, California. This was the first time that either of the siblings had ever moved- they'd had a whole life back in Chicago, and now they were starting afresh. Whitney thought that that was reason enough to be nervous. Well, it was harder for her, since everything she had just said was very true- friendship groups were more than likely already assembled, and she knew that it'd be hard to fit in. But Rob wouldn't have the same problems- primary school was _way _easier to fit in than college- she knew that for a fact.

So, despite her own qualms about starting afresh, Whitney smiled and squeezed her brothers' hand. Even if things didn't turn out the way she'd like at school, she _did _only have one year left, whereas poor Rob had at least six.

"Hey, Rob, you could always show off your new comic," she said, forcing a smile. She briefly locked eyes with her mother, and from Andrea's small, answering smile, she knew that she knew what she was doing.

However, Andrea didn't know _which _comic Whitney was referring to.

Rob's round face erupted into a sudden smile. "Hey, that's a cool idea!" he exclaimed. "Everyone likes comic books!"

Andrea ruffled her son's hair affectionately. "That's right, son," she said encouragingly, "Everyone loves a good comic book."

Rob began rocketing off of the furniture in his excitement. He paused for a second- to check the time. Then he let out a squeal. "Come on, Whitney, we're late!" He began tugging her towards the front door, his face eager. Like most nine-year-olds, his attention was easily diverted.

As she was tugged out the front door, Andrea mouthed to her a silent _'thank you'. _

**XxX**

It was even worse than she thought it'd be.

Santa Carla high wasn't exactly as big as the one back in Chicago, but, being the last year, Whitney had been horribly right- friendship groups had already been established, and that became blindingly obvious to Whitney the moment she set foot into the school. The people were mostly nice, but they didn't make an effort to welcome her into any of their groups, and all of Whitney's attempts had been rebuffed.

Needless to say, it wasn't the best feeling.

She now trudged along the beaten path that snaked alongside the school buildings- all around her, people sat and laughed, and chatted animatedly- things she wished she was doing. She couldn't find anywhere to sit, and her arms were aching- first day at school, and already, they were full of textbooks. She sighed, and blew a tendril of hair from her face.

This wasn't her day.

Finally finding a table where, surprisingly, there was no-one around, she approached it eagerly.

She didn't see the other girl until it was too late.

Whitney barrelled into her, and promptly dropped everything- schoolbag, textbooks and all. "Sorry!" she exclaimed, and instantly felt her face grow warm with embarrassment. She dropped to her knees to retrieve her things, and was more than a little surprised when another pair of hands appeared. "I-"

"Are you okay?" the girl asked. She was tall, although not as tall as Whitney, and had dark, lavishly-curled hair. She didn't seem to fit into the 'beach bum' theme of Santa Carla; dressed in a long, sequined skirt that brushed her ankles, and with a white crochet top, she looked…relaxed. Relaxed, and at peace with herself. "Let me help you with all that."

"I…thanks," Whitney mumbled, gathering some of her textbooks together hastily. The girl retrieved some runaway papers, and handed them to her with a small smile.

"No problem," she replied happily, and stood up when she saw that Whitney had everything under control. Still smiling, she brushed the dirt off her long skirt. "Hey, are you new here?"

Whitney rolled her eyes and grinned. "That obvious, huh?"

"Not really," the girl said, and then gave a shy grin. "Well, maybe a little. But you weren't as bad as some kids around here. Hey, what's your name?"

"Whitney," she offered, and then asked tentatively, "What's yours?"

"Star."

Whitney raised an eyebrow. "Wow, really?"

Star rose up like a snake ready to strike. "Yeah, what of it?"

Whitney shrugged. "Nothing, it's just unusual, that's all. But I think it really suits you," she said, almost apologetically. Star noticeably relaxed.

"Sorry. I used to get teased about it a lot."

Whitney grinned. "Hey, I _still _get compared to Whitney Houston!" Both girls had a good laugh over that. Star perched on the table next to Whitney, somehow doing it with the grace of a ballerina. Whitney, however, had difficulty folding her long legs underneath her. At five eleven, she was a tall girl, and she'd probably grow a little more later.

"So how long have you been in Santa Carla for?"

Whitney sighed. "Two days. We've already been to the Boardwalk."

Star's eyes lit up. "Really?" she asked excitedly. "It's my favourite place to go! I remember playing the arcade games when I was a little kid, and nothing's changed! Where did you go on the Boardwalk, Whitney?"

"Oh, just around, you know. I took my brother to the Frog brothers' comic book store. I had a look in that video tape place- the one that Max owns?"

She thought she saw something in Star's face darken. For a moment, her pretty face was- well, almost sad. Or pitying. Then the look was gone, and everything seemed to be all right again.

"You mean you haven't been to a party there yet?"

"Uh- no." Whitney hadn't even known that there were parties on the Boardwalk. Star tugged her arm almost impatiently.

"Oh, but you're missing out, Whitney! There's a party on tonight at eight- I could show you what all the fuss is about!"

"I…I don't know, Star. My parents are pretty strict about that sort of thing…"

Star's eyes were wide. "_Please, _Whitney. It'll be really fun, I promise."

Reluctantly, Whitney gave in. "Okay. All right. But I have to ask my parents first."

Star clapped her hands together, delighted. "You won't regret it, I promise!"

**XxX**

Now that she had someone to talk to, the day seemed to fly by. Star seemed to genuinely like Whitney, smiling and laughing at her jokes, and asking about her old life back in Chicago. Whitney liked Star- not only because she actually paid attention to Whitney, but because she clearly didn't fit into mainstream society at school. She was nice, had unique taste in clothes, and there was just something _about _her, something special that Whitney just couldn't put her finger on.

Something…different.

Whitney was disappointed when the school day came to an end. She loved having someone to talk to. All around her, people chattered aimlessly, jostling her and Star slightly as they rushed home. Star seemed completely at ease, pushing through the mass of people so easily that Whitney struggled to keep up.

When the two girls reached the school gate, they had to part ways. Whitney's heart sank a little- she'd been hoping that Star lived in the same area. "I live out of town," Star explained, hitching her skirt up slightly, to reveal brown hiking boots, "So I have a fair distance to cover, and my parents expect me home really soon. But- I'll see you tonight?"

"Definitely," Whitney agreed. Star gave her a little wave, before setting off in the opposite direction, her skirt flapping around her ankles.

Whitney tightened her grip on her stack of textbooks, and headed for home, a mischievous grin on her face. Little did her parents know that she was going to that party- permission or not.

**XxX**

Andrea was in the middle of dusting the top of the TV when she heard the front door open. "Hi, honey!" she called, turning in her daughter's direction, plastering a grin on her young-looking face. "How was your day?" Ever since that episode this morning, she'd been worried sick about her kids. Rob, as it turned out, had done just fine- he'd even made a couple of friends. But Whitney, she knew, had a slightly harder time of it. Almost eighteen, she'd never had to move schools before- or make new friends. Despite all the reassurances that she'd expelled earlier that morning (and she'd meant them, too- Andrea wasn't one for telling white lies), it was still in a mother's nature to worry. She worried a lot about her daughter, and she knew that Chris worried about her too.

She really hoped that everything had gone well for her.

"Pretty good, actually, Mom," came the unexpected reply. Andrea let out a sigh of relief. This sounded honest on her daughter's part. Whitney did have a habit of being sarcastic, but this sounded genuine.

Then Whitney herself appeared, and gave her mother a hug. "Whoa, hey- I don't want my bones to be broken!" she joked, returning the hug fiercely. Whitney gave a little squeak of delight and released her mother, smiling radiantly.

"Where's Rob, Mom?"

"In his bedroom," Andrea said, rolling her eyes, "I don't know what kind of comic he bought himself, but he loves it!"

"I bet he does," Whitney replied, shaking her head. Tendrils of hair whipped back and forth with the motion. "What did you do all day, huh?"

Andrea gestured to the TV with her duster. "Cleaning and unpacking."

"Sounds fun." Ah, there was the trademark sarcasm that Andrea hadn't missed. "Where's Chris?"

Why did Andrea have a feeling that her daughter was trying to scope her out? As if…she was planning something?

"Still at his job interview, why?" Chris was applying for a job as an electrician. He'd had the job for four years in Chicago, so she had a damned good feeling that he was going to nail it. From what she'd heard so far, there were hundreds of jobs in Santa Carla, yet hardly enough people to fill them.

Whitney took a deep breath. She swallowed twice. Aha. Here it was- she was going to ask her something.

"I don't have any homework, so…can I go to a party out on the Boardwalk, Mom? Please? I met this really nice girl today, and she said that she wanted to show me what all the fuss was about, because apparently Santa Carla is famous for its parties and concerts, and I really wanna go, and…"

Andrea held up her hands. "Whitney. Stop. I need some more information here. What's the name of this girl you say you met?"

"Star."

"…Star?" That sounded like a hippy name. She prayed to God that this Star, whoever she was, wasn't into doing dope or anything like that.

"I know what you're thinking, Mom. Star isn't like that. She- she's a good Christian girl." Well, she didn't know if that was true, but Star had had a little silver cross on her knapsack- surely that had meant something? "She invited me along to be friendly. I won't get into trouble, Mom, I won't."

"I don't know, Whitney….there's sure to be alcohol there."

"I won't drink," she hastily assured her mother. "Really, I won't. The last thing I want is to make a fool out of myself in front of people I don't know."

Andrea hated this. She hated being asked things like this when Chris wasn't around. She liked to have someone to consult, and she was by herself. Still, Whitney was a good girl. She knew how to handle herself, and besides, she needed a bit of fun, after everything; the move, the divorce…

"Okay," she sighed, "But you be back by twelve, and- this is non-negotiable- _sober. _If you're late, or I get a phone call saying that you need to be picked up because you can't walk straight, there'll be hell to pay. Okay?"

"Okay!" she exclaimed, and gave her mother a fierce hug. "Thanks, Mom. It means a lot to me, it really does."

"You just go and have fun, now," Andrea grumbled. Whitney grinned, and darted into her room, undoubtedly to get ready. "But not _too _much fun!" she called after her.

Everything was going to be just fine.

Right?

**XxX**

As planned, Star met her at the front gate. Even at eight o'clock, the Boardwalk was full of bustling, chattering people. Whitney saw the girl's face light up when she saw her approaching, light summer dress in tow.

"Whitney, hi!" she called, waving at her furiously; Whitney returned the wave, feeling a grin slide onto her face. It was great, having someone to talk to. She noticed that Star was wearing the same clothes as before, with the exception of the hiking boots- they'd been replaced by thongs. "I'm so glad you made it!"

"My parents are pushovers," Whitney giggled, deciding not to mention her curfew- after all, she had a whole four hours to mention it, right? "So where's the party at?"

Star grinned. "Follow me."

Somehow, she managed to keep up with the older girl. Together, they pushed through the crowd, sailed past the Frog brother's store, as well as Max's, and eventually they ended up near a stage, where several band members were prepping for a performance. Already, the quadrangle before them was filled with people, hooting and screaming happily. Several drums had fire inside them, and, as they passed one of these, several people began headbanging over it, their mullets dangerously close to catching alight.

Towards the back of the quadrangle, boxing the people in, were several stores; Whitney could see a pizzeria, the smell of grease and cheese wafting over to her. Star seemed oblivious to all of this; she seemed intent on getting Whitney to a particular place.

She found a nice little niche, slightly underneath the veranda that the pizzeria and numerous shops sat upon, but close enough to the music so that it was comfortable. "You don't want to be right up the front," Star explained, "Because it hurts your ears."

Whitney nodded. This made sense.

When the music began, the crowd began dancing wildly, headbanging, screaming; there were no longer individual people, but just a great _mass _of them, roiling, swaying, and hooting. Star began weaving from side to side, somehow managing to stay in beat with the music, but also looking like a ballerina. "Come on, Whitney, join in!" she called. Behind her, alcohol was being passed around in shadowy corners. Shrugging, Whitney moved over to the other girl, and began to dance.

**XxX**

With Lucy and Maria manning the store, there was no real need for Max to be there tonight. After placing a kiss on his beloved wife, he'd excused himself, to come watch the band play.

Well, that had been his excuse. In reality, he was watching the young girl who was with Star. Long-legged and lovely, she moved self-consciously at first, but, as she began to be absorbed into the music, she became more graceful, less awkward. As she and Star danced, both grinning delightedly, he saw that she became more and more at ease with herself.

She was confident. Stunning. Family-orientated.

If he'd been able to believe in God, he could have said that perhaps she was God's gift to him- she was perfect, a perfect potential Daughter.

Now- if only his Boys were here, then everything would be perfect.

The man licked his suddenly dry lips. Tonight was the night- the night that he'd have a Daughter at last. He'd thought that Star might make a worthy Daughter, but she had failed them all in the end, preferring a weak half-human like Michael Emerson over his David. Together, she and Michael were not his favourite people. In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that Michael was Lucy's son, he might…

No. Better not think about that. Better to just focus on the task at hand.

As the music peaked, and became absurdly loud, he distinctly thought he heard the faint rumble of approaching motorcycles. He let his thin mouth curve into a smile. Ah, yes; here they were…

The heavy footfalls and jingles of the Boys bit and bobs hanging off of their jackets drew Max's eyes away from the mass of people. He turned, to see his Boys leaning on the railing beside him.

Closest to him was David, his eldest; he leant with his back to the band, gloved hands in his pockets, a smirk on his pale face. Dwayne was, once again, smoking, his cigarette dangling precariously out of his mouth. Paul and Marko were the only ones watching the concert, the former jabbing the latter in random places, chuckling ominously to themselves.

"Hello, Boys." Max's voice was low, so as to not disturb those around him. An hour into the concert, and already the railing was filled with people other than themselves. "I trust everything is in order?"

David picked himself up from the railing. Paul and Marko ceased their silliness, and watched the older man warily, Marko raising a gloved hand to his mouth like he always did when he was trying not to smile.

"Well, as good as it can be." The challenge in David's voice did not go unnoticed by the older man. David was a difficult person- but he couldn't disobey Max. Once again, Max marvelled at how he held power over Santa Carla's most unruly. "Which one is it?"

Max pointed. David's eyes followed his finger, until they lit upon the girl dancing with Star. She was tall, with legs that seemed a little too long for her. Her hair was long and wavy, and was ashy-blonde. Dressed modestly in a summer dress, she certainly wasn't ugly.

Yet she was too… normal. If it wasn't for Max's weird interest in the girl, David and the Boys would have sailed past her without a second thought, except perhaps as a meal.

Paul evidently didn't agree. "Nice legs," he said conversationally, and then laughed. "Damn, girl!"

Thankfully, his comment was lost in the sudden roar of appreciation from the crowd below. Marko elbowed his friend in the stomach.

Max rolled his eyes. "David, the bottle."

The teenager slipped a hand inside his floor-length jacket, and produced a jewel-encrusted bottle. From the way that the liquid sloshed inside, it was obviously full, though with what, it was impossible to tell. Max knew, though. They all knew. Even Paul's hooting was halted by the sight of it.

"You're seriously going through with this?" David asked, raising a bleached eyebrow. His disbelief wasn't unjustified, but it irritated Max nevertheless. Couldn't he see the girl's potential?

Max glared at David, his eyes briefly flashing red. _"Yes." _

Below them, Star's glare was murderous. Despite her movements, and the smile on her face, her eyes glimmered- like she was about to burst into tears.

**XxX**

"This is fantastic," Whitney shouted over the pounding of the music, "Thanks for inviting me, Star!"

"No problem!" she yelled back, spinning gracefully; how did she manage to do all of that and yet look so graceful? "I'm glad you're having a good time!"

Maybe it was time to tell Star that she had a curfew- she didn't want to get in trouble, and she had no idea what time it was. It was impossible to tell, and neither her nor Star wore a watch.

Whitney could suddenly feel eyes boring into the back of her head. She turned, to see the same four teenage boys from the video store the other night watching her. She wasn't sure why, but a sudden jolt of fear struck her. They put her on edge- she didn't like the way their eyes slid over her, as if she was a piece of meat, not a person.

Yet it didn't escape her attention that none of them were ugly.

"Hi, girls!"

Both Whitney and Star turned to see the hulking form of Max approach them. He was wearing a pinstripe suit, with a pink silk tie and his trademark chunky glasses. He really was a huge man; if he wasn't holding two cups of punch and grinning like a lunatic, he could have been frightening.

"How are you going?" he boomed over the music. "Great show, isn't it?"

"Definitely," Whitney shouted, giving him a thumbs-up. Star was strangely silent. Max offered them a cup of punch.

"Here, have one of these," he shouted. Whitney took one gingerly. As she did so, she noticed that the boys were watching her intently, eyes glittering. It was like they were daring her to drink it, their eyes egging her on.

Feeling rebellious, she downed the drink in one go. Max smiled.

It was at that moment that her legs collapsed underneath her.


	4. Chapter 4

When Whitney next opened her eyes, she couldn't focus. Everything was fuzzy and clouded around the edges- as though her eyesight had suddenly deteriorated. She tried focusing on a single object, and the world spun, like some absurd carousel that was at high speed and wouldn't let her off.

She moaned quietly, and squeezed her eyes shut again; she felt queasy.

No-one, except probably Star and Max, had noticed her fall. The music still pounded, people were still writhing back and forth, screaming delightedly. Several flame-filled drums had been knocked over. Sparklers had been brought, and were being waved around by excited children.

She tried to sit up, and a white-hot poker corkscrewed across her forehead. It felt like she had a massive drum of pain inside her head, pounding against her temples. Her stomach lurched again.

"Honey, are you okay?" Max sounded worried, and when she tried to sit up again, two arms that resembled tree trunks snaked around her middle, and lifted her easily. She swayed precariously; Max's arms tightened. They felt like ice.

Star was at her shoulder, her expression a mixture of sadness and sympathy. Whitney was very pale.

"My…head…" she managed; her lips felt like leather. Her stomach did backflips, and the drum slammed inside her head again. She whimpered; what had happened? Had the drink been spiked?

"Headache?" Max asked quietly, his eyes speculative behind his enormous glasses. She nodded as best she could. Her skin felt like it was on fire; she half-expected to see her skin be angry and red, as though she'd scalded it. It was sensitive; every move she made sent a fresh wave of fiery pain over her body. She felt very vulnerable, exposed; she was glad that Max and Star were here, otherwise…

Her thin frame shuddered uncontrollably, and the world spun again. The inside of her mouth was parched; it was a desert, where the wind was scorching and harsh, and there was nothing but dry sand. It wasn't even soft, but sharp and stabbing, and she moaned again, louder this time.

"There's something seriously wrong with me," she croaked. "Max…"

Above her, she thought she heard laughter. Struggling to focus, she made out the vague shapes of the four boys from the video store. The one with the white hair was smirking, the others practically howling with laughter.

And she suddenly knew that they were laughing at _her. _

Her legs threatened to buckle underneath her, and Max lifted her gently again. "Do you want me to take you home, Whitney?" he asked softly.

If Whitney had been in any other state of mind, she would have surely realised that she hadn't once told Max her name.

"I think that'd be the best idea," she squeaked. She was going to be in so much trouble when she got home. She didn't want to go, but she certainly didn't want to stay _here_- not when the boys were laughing at her.

"Okay," he murmured. "Let's go."

He half-walked, half-carried her away from the mass of writhing people. Star didn't move. As Whitney looked back, she saw that her face was sparkling with tears, and, as she looked, the other girl mouthed _I'm Sorry._

As she got into Max's big, red, boat of a car, she wondered what exactly Star was sorry for. It wasn't her fault that her drink had been spiked…

She looked back over her shoulder, to blearily see whether the boys were still there.

They weren't.

**XxX**

Max's car was huge and luxurious, and practically screamed money, but Whitney couldn't concentrate on anything other than trying not to unleash the contents of her stomach on his fine upholstery. Although it was good that she wasn't standing anymore, her stomach did flips inside of her, lurching precariously from side to side often, and the parched feeling in her throat intensified. She sat poker-straight in the passenger seat, her hands curled into tight fists. She wouldn't vomit here. She. Would. Not. Vomit. Here.

The drive was probably no longer than a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity. When at last the car came to a safe stop, right outside her new house, she tumbled out of the car, and vomited spectacularly on the ground. She pushed at her hair weakly, not wanting it to be caught in the onslaught.

Retching uncontrollably, her stomach clenching painfully, she became horribly aware that Max was standing over her, his expression puzzled. "I- I'm sorry…" she whispered wetly, fighting a sudden urge to cry. Max raised an eyebrow.

"What have you got to be sorry for, my dear?" he asked pleasantly. "You didn't damage the inside of my car, after all."

"I'm still sorry," she said.

He hauled her upright again. "Don't be sorry," he said, smiling kindly, "Some of us just don't take to drinks as well as others do."

She didn't know what to say to that. She'd honestly thought that the liquid inside had been punch- not any kind of alcohol.

Then they were at Whitney's door, Max keeping an arm around her shoulders to stop her from keeling over, the other rapping at the door smartly. Everything Max did was smooth, efficient. It was kind of creepy.

Then again, what did she know? She could barely see straight!

A sleepy-looking Chris answered the door after the second knock. To Chris, punctuality was everything; he hated keeping people waiting. The glazed-over look I his eyes disappeared the moment he saw his stepdaughter, slumped against a strange man's shoulder.

"What's…going on?" he asked, narrowing his eyes dangerously. Whitney was very pale, and, as he looked her over, he could see beads of sweat rolling off of her, and her dress was splattered with- something red. Wine?

He was worried about her, that was for sure, but inside him, anger began to bubble and froth as well. Andrea had told him everything, and although she was well inside the curfew, she was drunk- _very _drunk, from the looks of it. She'd deliberately disobeyed her mother.

Since Whitney appeared to not be capable of speech aside from a weak moan, he directed his question at the older man. He was nearly a full head taller than Chris, and built like a truck. He might have been intimidated by this man, had he not been wearing a sympathetic smile that made his eyes twinkle.

"I'm afraid your daughter has had a bit of an accident," he said solemnly. He offered a huge hand to Chris, who took it reluctantly. "My name's Max. I'm Star's father…?"

The name Star was known by Chris. Andrea had said that Star was something of a hippy. And that their daughter had somehow become friends with her.

He realised that Max was waiting for him to introduce himself, and he forced a grim smile on his face. "Chris," he said curtly. "What happened to Whitney, Max?"

"I don't really know," the older man said, looking mystified himself, "One minute she was dancing with Star, having a great time, and next thing I know, she nearly passed out on the ground! I couldn't leave her like that. Star and I drove her straight home, before she could get into any trouble." And trouble she might very well get in, Max thought, grinning inwardly, in more ways than one.

Chris sighed. "Let me take her off your hands." And Whitney was transferred smoothly from one man to the other. If she'd been even slightly awake, she would have noticed that going from Max to Chris was like stepping out from an ice shower and jumping into a warm bath. "Thanks for taking her home, Max. I hope she wasn't too much hassle for you."

Whitney stirred into life inside her stepfather's arms, and coughed wetly. "My throat…" she groaned, cupping a hand around it, as though that was going to do something.

"I'm afraid she might have had a bit too much to drink," Max said apologetically. Chris's grip on Whitney tightened, and she winced. He was really angry with her. She was going to cop it in the morning.

When Chris spoke next, though, he was remarkably calm. He clapped Max on the shoulder with his free hand. "Thanks again for taking care of her, Max."

"Oh, not at all!" Max replied, eyes serious behind his absurd glasses, "I sincerely hope she gets better soon."

"So do I." The threat in his voice was obvious, even to Whitney. Max smiled awkwardly, and turned to return to his flamboyant red car, looking back only once.

He smiled.

**XxX**

Once they were inside the house, Chris dropped the façade. He sat Whitney down in a chair, and once he was sure that she wouldn't vomit again, he rounded on her. "Why?" he demanded quietly, not wanting to wake Andrea and Rob, "Why did you go ahead and disobey your mother when she _told _you not to go ahead and-"

"Chris, there's something seriously wrong with me." Her voice was little more than a whisper. She'd stopped shaking, but she was still sweating profusely, and more than a little pale. "I feel terrible…"

He sighed. "Whitney, there's nothing wrong with you. You're just drunk."

"_No!" _She shouted, startling both of them, _"No, there is seriously something wrong with me!" _

She was going to wake up the whole damned house if she kept yelling like that. Chris glared at her, his normally good-natured face now sharp and ugly. "Go upstairs and sleep it off, for Christ sake, Whitney. I'll deal with you later, young lady."

She tried to stand up, but, after a few tense moments, couldn't manage it. Chris, despite himself, picked her up like a small child, and carried her to bed.

He loved her like she was his own, but there was going to be hell the next morning.

**XxX**

Lucy was busy knitting away when Max returned home. It had slowed down after nine-thirty at the store, and Maria had assured her that she could handle it, after agreeing that she would ring Lucy or Max should things speed up, although it was obvious that that wasn't going to happen. Lucy usually enjoyed knitting, creating new things, but tonight, she was knitting for two reasons; firstly, to keep the gnawing hunger away, and secondly, to keep her mind off the nice girl that Max had decided to condemn.

It wasn't working.

Her huge, hulking husband appeared in the doorway, looking pleased with himself. Lucy wondered whether the girl was already dead or not. Despite her worries, she forced a warm smile. "Hi, honey," she greeted, "How was your night?"

She leaned forward for her customary welcome-home-kiss, but he surprised her. He swept her off the chair and into his arms, giving her a crushing hug. "Thoroughly fulfilling," he whispered, kissing her nose. "Oh, Lucy, you're not going to be alone for much longer!" he cried, spinning her around delightedly.

_I've never been alone, Max. I have Michael and Sam to worry about. I didn't wish this fate for poor Whitney…_

She laughed. "That's great!"

"Mom, you're not alone anyway." Both Max and Lucy turned to see Sam at the foot of the stairs, _Batman _comic in hand. Lucy's youngest, Sam was at the tender age of thirteen, with a mop of light brown, curly hair, and the most eccentric dress sense Max had ever seen. Baggy jeans, an oversized t-shirt with seemingly random paint splotches, and bright red sneakers, Sam always looked slightly out of place. His dark eyes bored into Max's, full of loathing. He then turned to his mother, who felt her heart sink. "You've got me and Mike, remember?"

Lucy unwound herself from Max and hurried over to her son, giving him a fierce hug. "Honey, that's not what Max was talking about, and I'd never forget you and Michael. You know that, right?"

"Sure," he muttered, permitting his mother to kiss him. This had been hard on all of them, but Sam especially. After the little spat with the Boys, he was disliked by them _and _the Frog brothers. Well, perhaps 'disliked' was an understatement. They _hated _her Sam. Sam wasn't allowed in the comic store anymore, something that had hit him particularly hard. Alan and Edgar had been his best friends back in the day, and now he wasn't allowed anywhere near them.

"I love you to bits, Sam," Lucy said, stroking her son's hair. He scowled. "Nothing's ever going to change that."

"I know, Mom," he sighed, untangling himself, "Can I have something to eat?"

She grinned. "Sure."

For the next half an hour, everything was all right again. Max, Sam, and Lucy- it felt like a family, a perfectly normal family.

Well, as normal a family as they could be.

**XxX**

The next morning, when Whitney opened her eyes, it was like someone had suddenly jabbed her in the socket with a white-hot poker. The sunlight stung. "Ugh," she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. She'd never been a morning person, and today she felt worse than ever.

As the memories of last night surfaced, she groaned again. She was in _so _much trouble. In fact, she almost didn't want to get up if it meant that she was going to be yelled at. But she knew that it would only get worse if she delayed it any longer, so, rather reluctantly, she forced herself out of bed, blinking rapidly against the bright sunlight. Funny, it seemed a lot brighter than usual- it was irritating.

Brushing the last of the crusty sleep from her eyes, she pulled the curtains closed before getting dressed, which brought some relief. Surprisingly, her dress only had a single red stain on it- somehow, she'd avoided soiling her dress with her vomit the night before. Pulling on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, she started downstairs, stopped, reached for a pair of sunglasses sitting on her bedside table, and slid them on, before hurrying down to meet Andrea and Chris.

Rob stuck his head out his door as she passed. "You're gonna get it," he said cheerfully, "Mom and Dad are real mad at you."

"I know," she sighed. "I'm mad at me, too."

"What happened?" he asked. "Were you real sick or something?"

"I guess so," she said, and she wasn't sure why, but a spike of annoyance rose up from her gut, "Why do you care, anyway?"

"I-" Rob looked hurt. Whitney rarely, if ever, snapped at her brother. "Nothing. I was just worried about you, that's all."

Whitney already felt the regret that followed an outburst. Why had she acted like such a bitch to her brother, whom she loved dearly? "Rob, I'm-"

He slammed the door in her face.

She stood there for a moment, deeply upset. She hadn't meant to upset Rob, really, she hadn't. But for some reason…

She sighed. She had to face the parents sooner or later, and she may as well get it over and done with.

Adjusting her sunglasses, she padded into the kitchen. Andrea was there in her nightgown, staring fixedly at her bowl of cereal. Chris was pacing, his agitation rolling off of him in generous waves. Whitney stopped in the doorway, and exhaled noisily. It was bright in here; Andrea had opened all the windows, and sunlight streamed in seamlessly. It was very pretty, but somehow painful. Whitney felt a dull throb develop above her left eye, and she grimaced.

Chris saw her grimace, and he frowned. "So the illustrious Whitney has finally decided to grace us with her company," he almost snarled. Andrea looked up, startled. When she saw her daughter standing in the doorway, her expression went from surprised to disappointment in an instant. "You're in trouble, missy."

"How much?" Whitney asked dully, the throbbing less painful than annoying, but it was persistent. What a fabulous time to develop a headache, especially after last night!

Andrea stood up, arms crossed. _"A lot, _Whitney Jane Thompson."

Chris seemed to be taking the offensive here. "How could you do this, Whitney? How could you deliberately disobey your mother and I?"

That stung- almost as much as the sun. Whitney started forward angrily. "I didn't disobey you at all!" she cried, hurt. She hated fighting- and now she was fighting with _all _her family members. "I didn't drink at all- I had one glass of punch!"

"Punch. _Sure," _Chris said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Max told me everything. He said you had a bit too much to drink. And, judging by your condition last night, it was _way _too much for you, young lady!"

Whitney gasped. That wasn't true at all- she _had _had only one glass of punch. Sure, there had been alcohol passed around at the party- but she hadn't accepted any. Nothing, except that one glass of punch. She knew that that was the truth, and it hurt that her parents didn't believe her. She'd always, _always _been close with her family, and she hated to fight with them. "I'm telling you the truth!" She shouted. "I only had a glass of punch!"

"If that's true," her mother said quietly, "Then why were nearly unconscious last night?"

Whitney stopped. Why _had _she reacted like that? It'd only been one glass of punch…

"Aha," Chris said triumphantly, "She finally admits it!"

"I didn't admit anything," she snapped. Her head…the drum was back. If her mind was the drum, then the thing that was striking it was a war hammer, pounding at her rapidly and without mercy. Her head felt like an eggshell about to break- it hurt that much. "I just…can't…"

"Can't what, honey?" Her mother's voice was soft, soothing. Like Whitney, she hated fighting with her family- she liked to handle things peacefully. True, she still handed out punishments when they were necessary, but she didn't like to yell, unlike Chris.

"I can't figure out _why…_I felt so bad after that one drink," Whitney muttered. Her sunglasses had slid down her nose, and she pushed them back up clumsily.

It did not go unnoticed by Chris. "What's with the sunglasses inside?" he asked suddenly.

Whitney shrugged. "My eyes hurt."

Both Andrea and Chris exchanged worried glances.

**XxX**

The pimply teenager took a long drag on his cigarette, and blew the smoke out lazily in Edgar's direction. Not one to listen to rules, he'd practically filled up the comic book store with smoke, and neither teen running the store was happy. Alan was waving a comic around his face frantically, trying not to inhale the foul smoke.

Edgar and Alan hated him, but he was a good customer. He came twice a week, and ravished the brothers in money, even going so far as to tip them occasionally. He was now investigating some _Green Lantern _comics, having already bought most of _Batman _and _Superman. _

"Some party last night, huh?" he asked them pleasantly, taking another drag on his cigarette.

"I guess," both said in unison. In actuality, none of them had made it to the concert- they'd been too busy restocking shelves, while their parents dozed in the corner.

The older boy laughed. "Yeah, it was really something! You shoulda seen this one chick, me and my mates think she was drugged."

Alan raised an eyebrow. "Drugged?"

"Yeah, drugged. She had a drink, right- and next thing we know, she passed right out on the ground! Some hippy chick and this real tall guy helped her up, though." He sounded slightly regretful, and that sickened Alan to his stomach.

Edgar seemed interested, though. "A real tall guy, you say?" he asked gruffly, moving closer.

"Yeah. Tall, like real tall, and built like a bloody truck. I think he runs that video store- you know, the one across from you guys."

Edgar felt his pulse race with excitement. He locked eyes with his brother, and they smiled broadly.

It was time.

**XxX**

As part of her punishment, Whitney wasn't allowed out for the weekend, and her collection of tapes had been confiscated. She could still talk to Star, but only on schooldays. She wasn't to accept drinks from another person again, unless it was a family member. And she also had to help her mother with the housework for the day.

It was hell.

What made matters worse, as the sun rose, and was at its peak around lunchtime, Whitney felt herself becoming increasingly fatigued. Her body ached and groaned, and she just wanted to sleep. Her thighs ached dully. She found that it became increasingly hard to keep her eyes open- her eyelids felt so heavy!

She'd told her parents this, but they thought it was just a hangover, and that some 'good, hard work' would do her wonders.

Whitney sighed, and paused in the middle of her sweeping. Her parents were probably right. Maybe, just maybe, doing some hard work would ease some of the pain in her head. She looked out the window, to see Rob lying in the front yard reading his comic, and Chris puttering around in the garden. Normally, it'd be something she'd long to join in on, but today…the sun seemed too bright. Bright, and…oddly painful. Whitney's eyes began watering, even behind the dark sunglasses.

Wincing, she rubbed at her eyes furiously. They stung so much! Was this a normal reaction to a hangover?

Whatever. She was just going to push through this- just like she'd pushed through Mom's divorce with Kevin.

She moved away from the window. The sun was just too irritating for her right now.

**XxX**

Later that afternoon, when she'd finished everything, she flounced into the living room, and collapsed onto the couch.

"Wow, you look really tired," Rob observed from his place in front of the TV, "Are you sure you're okay, Whitney?"

Andrea was busily stirring something into delicious life in the kitchen down the hall, so she missed that remark, but Chris, sprawled on the ground next to Rob, heard everything. He spun around and glanced at his stepdaughter. Rob was right- Whitney looked _exhausted. _She was pale, and beads of sweat dripped down her face. Her hair clung to her like a helmet, and her face- was it _thinner? _

They were minuscule changes, so subtle that if Chris hadn't looked properly, he would have missed them entirely.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

Whitney looked, and smiled. You didn't need to be a rocket scientist to know that it was forced. "I'm fine, Chris, really."

"You don't look fine," he persisted.

"I really am," she insisted. "I'm just- well, I'm famished, that's all."

"I'm glad to hear that!" Andrea called from the kitchen. "Dinner's up!"

And, for a short while, everything was forgotten, as everyone dug into the delicious quiche that Andrea had made.

**XxX**

Whitney couldn't get to bed fast enough. After her strangely exhausting day…all she wanted to do was sleep. Yet, at the same time, she didn't want to. Part of her wanted to stay awake, to enjoy the darkness that soon enveloped Santa Carla.

It was like her body clock had gone haywire.

She wasn't sure _what _she wanted to do- did she want to sleep, or stay awake?

Eventually, after several hours of tossing and turning, sleep finally claimed her. Her heavy eyelids fell, and her breathing soon slowed, becoming peaceful. She sighed happily in her sleep, and turned over, unaware that her bed was several feet below her.

She was levitating.

_A/N: Hey guys, what do you think of this so far? Is it okay? A little review letting me know what you think would be greatly appreciated ^_^ _


	5. Chapter 5

David took a long drag on his cigarette, and blew the smoke out lazily, blue eyes appraising. The Lost Boys were leaning against the railing that overlooked the beach, David and Dwayne quiet for the most part, Marko and Paul fooling around as usual. The duo had spied a pair of scantily-clad young women, and was eying them hungrily. Marko, David knew, wasn't interested in anything but food- and these girls, clearly not locals, were food.

Dwayne and David, however, had other things in mind bar their thirst. It was small, positively miniscule, but it was there- the sense that one of them was asleep, and levitating. It was part of the bond, David supposed, that they all knew where each other were, and what they were doing. It had led to some awkward moments, and more than enough arguments, but ultimately, that 'sixth sense' of sorts had proved to be useful.

However, David knew that what he was sensing was weak. The bond not nearly as strong in Whitney Thompson as it was with the rest of them, she would weaken in a matter of days, and, provided she did not receive what she needed and wanted, would die within the week.

He couldn't understand Max's fascination in the girl, nor Paul's, but she was clearly important.

Dwayne, having stomped out his own cigarette some time ago, reached for David's. The platinum-haired man handed it over, still lost in his own thoughts. Well, they weren't entirely his own. As well as knowing precisely where each other were, they could share their thoughts. Was it telepathy? David didn't particularly care.

"How long do you think she'll last?" Dwayne asked quietly, dark eyes serious. It was a question that most of them had been pondering for quite some time.

"Who knows?" David muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. In the moonlight, his skin had an almost unearthly glow. "Time will tell."

Time would indeed tell.

If she didn't get better in a few days, then she would almost certainly die.

**XxX**

When Andrea knocked on Whitney's bedroom door the next day, she hoped that her daughter was feeling better. Chris and Rob had said that she was exhausted last night- she'd seen it, too, at the dinner table- Whitney had looked thoroughly washed-out, with sweat practically dripping off of her, and dark shadows under her eyes. She'd only eaten half of her quiche- and she normally loved it.

When she didn't answer straight away, Andrea felt a stirring of worry in her. What was going on? Usually Whitney was up bright and early, and usually beat her mother to the door. "Honey?" she asked quietly through the door, "You okay?"

She was expecting- no, _hoping- _for a bright confirmation. What she got instead was a sickening groan.

"I'm coming in there," she said immediately, and shoved the door open.

What she saw then stopped her dead in her tracks.

Whitney was in bed, curled into a small ball, but she wasn't asleep. Her eyes were open, and she looked even worse. Her face was ragged, slightly thinner than the night before, and- God, she was pale. So very pale. Despite going to bed early the night before, she appeared more fatigued than rested.

"Honey?" Andrea asked. "What's the matter?"

Whitney groaned. "I don't know."

"How can you not know? Was it something you ate?"

Whitney's voice was hoarse. "Mom, I told you, I _don't know. _I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I feel like crap."

Andrea forced a smile. "Well, I can fix the hungry part. Maybe you'll feel better once you have some food in you- you hardly ate anything last night."

Whitney tried to smile, but managed only to grimace. "Sure, Mom. But- can I have my sunglasses first?"

Andrea thought nothing of giving her daughter her sunglasses in a room where the blinds were drawn, and with no sunlight streaming through.

She should have, though.

**XxX**

Whitney followed her mother through the house, wincing as they passed every window- the sunlight seemed too bright- was it burning her eyes _through _the sunglasses? Already she could feel a dull pain at the base of her skull sputter into life. Great. All she needed right now was a damn headache.

She could hear her brother and stepfather chatting animatedly, Rob's cartoons on at full volume as always. But today…they seemed louder than usual. In fact, it was kind of like someone had taken a horn and was blowing it directly into her ear. The sunlight was like having cigarette lights held against her eyes- they stung and watered, and refused to stop.

All chatter stopped the instant the rest of her family got a good look at her. Chris's eyes narrowed, and his mouth became a thin line, like it always did when he was angry- or worried. Rob's reaction was much more obvious. He dropped his spoon, and it landed with a loud clatter on the ground.

The silence was so heavy that if it was night-time, you could have heard the crickets chirp.

"Wow," Rob said cheerfully, "You look like hell, Whitney."

Andrea swatted his shoulder, shocked. "Robert!"

"What?" he asked innocently, eyes wide, "She _does." _

"I love you too, Rob," Whitney muttered, sinking into the chair next to him. She tried taking her sunglasses off, but the light was still too intense for her. She left them on. "What's for breakfast?"

"I can make you some bacon and eggs if you'd like," Andrea offered.

"That sounds great, Mom." Maybe she really would feel better if she had some food in her. She was so hungry…it was almost like physical pain. Hunger, burning eyes, a headache…she felt like crap, and according to her family, she most definitely looked it.

She sighed, and Rob wrinkled his nose.

"Your breath stinks!" he exclaimed, pinching his nose.

"_Rob," _Chris warned.

She rolled her eyes. "Full of love today, aren't you, Rob?" she asked, voice practically dripping with sarcasm. "You really know how to make your big sister feel better."

Rob paused for a moment, probably trying to figure out whether she was being serous or not. "Did you forget to brush your teeth last night?" he asked seriously. "Because my breath smells sometimes when I forget, too."

She knew he was trying to make her feel better, but it really was no good. Once she felt like crap, she usually felt like crap for the rest of the day. And today wasn't an exception. Still, he was her brother, and she still felt bad for screaming at him the other day. She gave him a small smile.

"I guess that was it, Rob. Sometimes I forget to brush my teeth."

"It happens," Chris said cheerfully, "Just make sure you clean them really well today."

"Sure," she agreed tiredly. But she'd cleaned her teeth last night- hadn't she?

She put that thought out of her mind when the food arrived- two huge fried eggs, several strips of bacon dripping in oil. Normally, such a sight would have made her ravenous with hunger, but her stomach, surprisingly, quailed at the sight and smell of the food. Nevertheless, she ate with gusto, not stopping until everything on the plate was gone- she was desperate to get rid of this sick feeling, whatever it was.

It didn't make her feel any better, but she pretended it did. "Thanks, Mom. I feel a bit better now."

Andrea studied her carefully. "Are you sure? You're still very pale," she observed.

Whitney gave her the thumbs-up. "I'm fine, Mom, really. I guess I just didn't get enough sleep last night."

Andrea started to protest, but Chris laid a hand on her shoulder. "Leave her be, Andrea. If Whitney says she's fine, then she's fine. You worry too much, sweetheart."

Both Rob and Whitney grimaced. They hated it when Chris got all mushy and called her _sweetheart. _It was too sweet to bear.

It was almost as bad as this sickness that Whitney was going through.

**XxX**

Lucy knew exactly what Whitney was going through. A half-vampire herself, she'd started feeling weak and sickly when she'd first been bitten by Max, too. But, but covering herself in a shawl and wearing absurdly large hats, she was able to keep the sun at bay. Max also occasionally fed her blood to keep her going, to stop from weakening so much that she would wither away and die- she didn't think it was human blood, otherwise she wouldn't be able to stand the sunlight at all. She thought it was animal blood- it had enough substance to keep her alive, but it wouldn't make her like Max was.

Not potent enough.

But she knew that Max would get tired of waiting- he was allowing her to eat human food and drink animal blood only out of respect for her- he loved her, that much was true, but he wouldn't wait forever.

But now, it seemed that Whitney had even less time than she had. She'd only been turned a day ago, and already she was weakening to the point that she couldn't get out of bed. She only knew this because Max insisted on having her watched- a Daughter, he'd explained, would be wildly different to having the Boys. Women were more emotional, and ultimately weaker.

Well, that was what _he _thought.

Lucy wanted to rush downtown to the Thompson household, and explain everything to Whitney, who would undoubtedly be alone and afraid of what was happening to her. But _no. _She was on lockdown- Max had even ensured that Thorn watched her every move, and the hellhound snarled viciously whenever it appeared that she was trying to sneak outside.

Lucy wasn't sure what Max was planning, but she had a feeling that she wouldn't stay human for long.

As she walked the hallways of her new home, she glanced into the bedrooms of her sons, Michael and Sam. The former was busy lifting weights, his handsome face contorted with concentration and sweat, and the latter was busily sorting through his comic collection, singing along to the radio, his voice slightly too high-pitched to sound appealing.

It was an oddly endearing sight.

_I do love you, Max, but my sons have priority. I may not be able to do anything for Whitney right now, but you won't take my sons. Not unless I go with them._

She smiled a little at that thought. She might not be able to do anything for the girl right now, but she knew that she would see her again- probably sooner than later.

That is, if the Lost Boys didn't get to her first.

**XxX**

After she'd eaten, dressed, and taken care of her 'bad breath problem', Andrea asked timidly if she'd like to go downtown for some supplies. Whitney appraised the outside world with a critical (and burning) eye. She really did want to go outside, but not if she was going to burn to a crisp.

But if she stayed home, she'd be more bored than ever. "Sure, Mom. I never did get those tapes I wanted, anyway."

They were in the car in a matter of minutes, and Whitney, wearing some high-waisted shorts, a tank top, and having her hair waft around her head in an attempt to look less like crap than she was feeling, felt the difference as soon as she got out of the car and into the full power of the Santa Carla sun.

Her skin felt like it was on fire; she half-expected to actually _see _flames running up and down her skin. It was like hundreds of little lighters were being held to her skin at once- small, sharp, stabbing agony. Her eyes, which had been fine inside the car, promptly began to water again. Her stomach growled in protest.

She swayed unsteadily, and Andrea caught her. "Whoa, Whitney! Are you sure you're okay?!" she cried.

Whitney groaned. These shades were doing nothing for her. "It's really hot," she grumbled, finding her feet again, yet not letting go of her mother, 'Can't you feel how hot it is?"

"Well…" Andrea hesitated. In truth, it wasn't all that hot- it'd been warmer when they'd first arrived in Santa Carla. Was Whitney suffering from heat stroke? "I think you'd better stay in the car, Whitney. For your own safety."

"I think I should as well," she muttered. "I can get my tape another day." _Or night_, she added silently. She might have to, if she felt this bad during the day.

"Do you want me to stay with you, sis?" Rob asked quietly, his round face engraved with worry that was beyond his years.

Whitney waved him away. "No, go with Mom. I'll be fine, I promise." And she gave him a grin that was so like the ones she used to give, that he turned around and left. The only difference, Andrea noted, was that the smile did not reach her eyes.

As they left, Whitney distinctively heard Rob say: _"Are you sure she's okay, Mom? Whitney looks like hell." _

She sighed.

**XxX**

It was strange, but as the day wore on, and edged towards dusk, Whitney felt energy pulse through her body at an alarming rate. It was almost like she'd drunk an energy drink- or like, a hundred- or something. Her body buzzed, and she felt like she was constantly on a high- not that she would know what that was like, having never tried drugs.

By late afternoon, she'd been able to lose the sunglasses, and by the time night settled down over Santa Carla, it was almost as if she'd never been sick.

Chris watched her prance around the house with a raised eyebrow. "Feeling better, huh?"

"Definitely," she said excitedly, chucking her brother under the chin, "Weird, right?"

"Weird," he agreed, as Rob began pummelling her with his tiny fists.

'If you're feeling better, then this is payback!" He climbed on top of her like a monkey, hitting her repeatedly, his blows not as hard as he made them out to be.

She laughed for the first time in days. "Hey, don't try too hard," she joked, picking him up easily, despite him being almost ten, "That one _almost _hurt!"

"I'll give you a bruise one day," he threatened, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "One day, Whitney, you won't be able to escape!"

She chucked him again. "I look forward to that day!" Hoisting him over her shoulder, she carried him to his bedroom, Rob crying out delightedly along the way.

Andrea frowned at her husband. "Since when did Whitney become so strong?" she asked. "She couldn't even _lift _Rob the last time she tried."

"Weird," Chris murmured, sipping his coffee, "Definitely weird."

**XxX**

"Bedtime, munchkin," Whitney said, and plopped her brother on his bed. He bounced once, and let out a series of loud giggles. "Don't read your stupid comic tonight, okay? You'll give yourself nightmares."

"It's not stupid!" he protested weakly. "And they _don't _give me nightmares," he added, as an afterthought.

Whitney grinned. "Uh-huh, _sure_, buddy. And I'm one of those vampires out of the comic you have."

Rob rolled his eyes. "Yeah right, Whitney! You're not evil enough to be a vampire."

She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? How's this for evil?" And she leapt on top of him, and proceeded to tickle him insanely. He squealed excitedly, and tried to wriggle away from her, but she wasn't having any of it. She leaned down over him, and tickled him furiously, nails sliding in under his armpits.

"Okay! You're evil!" he cried, struggling all the more, but she wasn't letting up. "Whitney! You're evil, okay?"

She was close enough to smell his breath- and he hers, apparently. He recoiled from her.

"Yuck! Whitney, did you forget to clean your teeth again?" he demanded.

Whitney rose up like a snake. "What do you mean?" she demanded, suddenly angry. She _had _cleaned her teeth- in fact, she'd cleaned them not once, but _three _times…For Rob to say that her breath still stunk was insulting.

As she kneeled on his bed, glaring at him angrily, she became aware that her anger, a black, writhing, coiling, sparking mess inside of her, was slowly but surely rising. Goose bumps broke out across her skin, although she wasn't cold. The hair on the back of her neck started to rise, like a cat's did when it was agitated.

Rob held his small hands up in a sign of surrender. "I didn't mean anything!" he cried. "I just meant that maybe you forgot again, that's all!"

She suddenly wanted to swat his hands out of the way, and scratch at his face, until blood began to drip.

_Blood…_

Her mouth watered, even as she gagged at the thought. What the hell was she _thinking?_

Rob stared hard at her, slightly scared. "Are you okay, sis?" he asked timidly.

Whitney stood abruptly. "I'm fine," she muttered. She tousled her brother's hair playfully. "'Night, Rob."

She didn't wait for him to say goodbye.

She was out of the room before he had time.

**XxX**

She made a beeline for her room, and as soon as the door was locked, her hands went to her mouth. She was shivering violently, and she felt cold, like she'd stepped into an ice shower or something. The mere thought of blood- which was something that normally disgusted her to no end- was making her stomach clench in a sick, perverse parody of hunger.

How could she be craving blood?

_How could she…? _

A sharp rap on her door jolted her out of her pained reverie. "You okay in there?" Andrea asked softly through the door. "Rob told me you might have a bad breath problem."

"I'm fine," she murmured, straightening. She was so hungry…but for something that was sick and disgusting.

"Honey, it's nothing to be worried about. Lots of people suffer from bad breath. It's easily fixable."

"I don't have bad breath," she snapped.

A pause. "Honey…" Andrea said, almost sadly, "I could smell you today. It's- well, it's like something's died in your mouth."

Whitney frowned. Was this supposed to make her feel better? "Thanks for the support, Mom." Her voice was hollow, reflecting her hunger- no, her _craving_. "Glad to know that someone's got my back around here."

"Whitney, I didn't mean it like that, and you know it." Andrea was starting to get angry now. Why was Whitney giving her nothing but attitude of late? She was a good girl. "We could just try getting you some floss or something, you know? Maybe you've got a bit of meat stuck between your teeth, and that's what's causing the smell. It's happened to Chris before."

"I'm not surprised," she growled, and then sighed. "Look, thanks for the thought, Mom, but I really just think I should go to bed. We can go get some floss tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," Andrea said, defeated for the moment, "Goodnight, honey."

Whitney's stomach clenched again. "Night, Mom."

**XxX**

"So, Boys, where are we going tonight?" David drawled, kicking his bike into life. It shuddered and growled underneath him. Though it didn't look it, it was the fastest out of all the bikes- and perhaps the most abused.

Dwayne, mounting his own bike, shrugged. He usually didn't care where they went, so long as they didn't stay in the cave every night. Dwayne was one of those people who hated to be cooped up for too long- hell, they were all like that.

"We could always try Sizzlers," Marko suggested, his mouth forming an impish grin. Marko always had a shit-eating, _You wish you knew what I knew _smile on his face. Despite being the shortest out of all of them, Marko was, in a way, one of the most intimidating.

Dwayne raised an eyebrow, as Paul burst into hoots of laughter. "YES!" he shouted happily, "Good eats at Sizzlers!"

Marko shook his head, rolling his eyes. Paul thought either with his stomach, or his head- and not the one between his ears. A guy with a one-track mind, he was like a child most of the time. But damn funny, that was true enough.

David let a smirk twist his face, and his bike snarled beneath.

"Last one there's paying," he said, and zoomed into the darkness, towards Santa Carla.

"Shit!" Paul dropped his joint, and hurled himself after the others, already fading into the darkness.

**XxX**

The shadows dancing around Whitney's room did nothing to soothe her frantic heart, her wild gasps, as she shot straight up in her bed, eyes wheeling around wildly.

She had been sleeping peacefully, until…

_Whitney. _

There it was again- a voice, one that she had not heard before, whispering somewhere in the corner of her mind. At first, she'd thought that it was part of the nightmare, but if that was true, then why was she still hearing it, when she was well and truly awake?

_Whitney…damn, girl!_

Another voice whispered her name, sounding almost playful. She gripped her head and groaned. Was she going crazy? First, her fall at Star's party, then the insane craving for blood, and now…

_Whitney. Find us. _This voice was dripping with authority, and her mouth opened in an O shape. This was insane! Was she really hearing voices?!

_Find us, Whitney. Find us. _

"Find who?" she whispered, afraid. Was there someone outside her room? She immediately stalked over to investigate, but there was no-one there. All the lights in her house were out- her family were well and truly asleep.

_We'll explain everything, Whitney. Just come out, and find us._

Silently, as though she were on autopilot, she got dressed, and slid her bedroom window open. Those voices…they had a hypnotic quality about them. Disobeying didn't even cross her mind. She was immediately pulled deep into their power, and had no way of getting out of it.

A soft breeze ruffling her hair, she looked outside. It was a one-story house, so she had no possibility of hurting herself. She glanced around the street, worried about potentially being caught by one of her neighbours.

_You're one of us, Whitney. Jump. _

This voice wasn't having any of her doubt. He- whoever he was- wanted her to jump.

So jump she did.

She landed silently- too quietly, she thought. She felt a sudden pull in her mind, so much so that it was painful. She gasped, and her stomach clenched again.

_This way…_

And so she walked into the night, following the voices of death.


	6. Chapter 6

She hadn't the faintest idea of where she was going; all she knew was that she felt a certain _pull_, and, whenever she resisted it, or tried going in another direction, her stomach clenched, so hard that once, she let out a whimper of pain.

She was so hungry….

She clamped her hands over her stomach, and forced herself to stop.

_Blood…warm, wet and dripping…_

It took some effort not to vomit on the spot. What was going on? She HATED blood- the sight of it used to make her feel faint, but now…

_Whitney. _The voice was not having any of it. _Come on, _it ordered fiercely, _not much farther now._

"I'm coming," she croaked, and she had no idea _HOW, _but she had the weirdest feeling that the voices, whoever they were, could actually hear her. Inside her head, they laughed. She grimaced. This was insanity…

She continued on, each step forward making her stomach clench less and less. If any cars passed her by, they wouldn't be able to see her; she kept to the shadows, moving silently, like a breeze.

Why was her stomach hurting less and less, as she moved deeper into the darkness? It was a queer feeling; it was almost as if she felt…well, it was like she was _whole. _She really couldn't find any other way to explain it to herself; it was like returning home to a waiting and doting family after a long period of absence. The whole situation was crazy- _beyond crazy- _but it felt somehow _right._

Plus, she didn't want her stomach to clench like that again.

Her stride became more confident and flowing, less pained and cautious, as she approached a part of Santa Carla she'd never seen before. On the outskirts of town, it wasn't nearly as classy and welcoming as the Boardwalk. The streets seemed darker here, and she quickened her pace, feeling unseen eyes on her back.

_Whitney. Hurry. _The voice, the one she'd dubbed as the 'leader', was impatient. There was a violent- almost painful- tug on her mind, and she rather thought she heard someone snicker, although she was well and truly alone on the poorly-lit street. She let out a small gasp, as the dull pain groaned back into life at the base of her skull.

This was insane…

Her feet moved automatically, some small part of her not caring where she was going, so long as she didn't feel sick anymore. The rest of her was terrified of what was going on. These voices, whoever they were, were driving her insane. If she wasn't already insane, that was.

She shuffled awkwardly on the pavement for a second, before she realised that she'd stopped at a diner. It was a small, dumpy place that reeked of cigarette smoke and burnt food, and many of the customers looked like absolute hooligans, but she suddenly knew she was at the right place. She knew that the voices wanted her to go in, but she was struck with a bolt of fear- what if there was no-one there? What if she really _was _going crazy?

_You're not crazy. _This was a new voice, one that was so deep and self-assured that she couldn't help but believe them.

_Not crazy, girl. Not used to this? Definitely. But you sure as hell ain't crazy. If you're crazy, then _we're _crazy!_

_That's not much coming from you, Paul. _

_Hey, shut up! _

She smiled, and pushed the door of Sizzlers' open.

**XxX**

Lucy shot up straight from her slumped position in the armchair, eyes wide, her mouth forming an O of horror. Max, who was out feeding, missed that. Sam, who was taking a bath, also missed this. Michael, however, who had been taking a long swig of milk from the fridge, did _not _miss anything. He swallowed the last of the milk, set the carton down, and hurried over to his mother with the speed that only a half-vampire could manage.

"What's up, Mom?" he demanded.

Lucy forced a smile. "Oh, it's nothing, Michael, really."

Michael gripped his mother's shoulder tightly. If everything had gone right, she would have winced. "You don't need to put on a face for me, Ma," he said sternly, bending slightly so that they were seeing eye to eye. His handsome face was engraved with concern for his wisp of a mother. "What's going on?"

Lucy sighed. Inside her mind, something tugged at her gently, probed for information. Michael. Out of all of them, he'd been half-vampire the longest, and he occasionally touched upon the abilities that only half-humans and non-humans knew how to do. "I just…had a sudden bad feeling, you know?"

"About?" Recent events had caused Michael to mature considerably. He never failed to surprise Lucy. She loved him more than ever.

"Have you…do you know about Whitney?" she asked timidly. Although she and Max had discussed her for a time, she wasn't sure whether her name had ever been mentioned to either of her boys.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Of course. At the moment, it's all Max ever thinks about. I can't get that bastard out of my head," he said through gritted teeth.

"Michael," Lucy whispered, and an entire unspoken conversation was had. Michael's eyes softened.

"Yeah. I get it, Mom. I know you want to do something, but…is there really anything you can do?" His eyes hardened almost immediately. "I mean…Max is doing his best to make her part of the 'family' as soon as he can. She doesn't have any time to say goodbye to her human life."

Lucy sighed, her young-looking face sombre. "Oh, I know," she murmured, "But I feel like I _have _to do something, you know?"

Michael enfolded her into a warm hug. "I know you do, Mom," he whispered. Lucy noted that the earring he'd worn when he'd been part of the Lost Boys was now gone. "But it's too late for Whitney now- once you get dragged into this mess, you never get out."

_Oh, Michael…isn't that the truth._

And it was.

**XxX**

"This is some serious business," Edgar muttered darkly to his brother, as they packed the store up for the evening; business had been slow, and their parents, dozing in the corner by the television, hadn't exactly done much to encourage visitors. Alan had stamp out his father's cigarette, which had been dangling precariously out of his mouth, his beard in danger of catching alight.

"Serious, alright," Alan agreed, twisting the sign around so that it now read '_Closed'. _Not that there was anyone around to notice. "There's going to be more vampires around Santa Carla."

"And more people are gonna die," Edgar fumed, tugging his bandana tighter across his head. He thumped the side of the comic trolley in frustration. "Damnit, Alan!"

"We need to stake them," Alan said, "Right through the heart."

"Gotta make sure it goes right through, though."

"Yeah," Alan agreed. "Don't want any of them surviving."

The brothers nodded at each other solemnly. Little did their parents suspect that their two teenage sons served a higher purpose than simply going to school and selling comics; they were, more or less, vampire hunters. Edgar's bandana hadn't always been red; it had been dyed that colour by vampire blood.

His very first kill.

They continued on with packing away the store, lost in their own thoughts. Their parents dozed happily in the corner.

Unlike vampires, humans weren't telepathic. Their thoughts were entirely their own. Alan breathed a sigh that might have been of relief. He couldn't imagine what it would feel like, to have someone poke around in your brain, know exactly what you were thinking. It was violation of the worst kind, he decided, and he eyed the backpack beneath the counter. Little did his customers know, he and Edgar both had a backpack that was filled with everything possible to deal with a vampire; sharpened stakes, cloves of garlic, water guns filled with water stolen from the church.

They hadn't exactly had to use any of them yet, save for the stakes, but they were sure that they'd work. The comics were their instruction manuals, and it was their solemn duty as the saviours of Santa Carla that they hoist those comics on unsuspecting kids.

Alan exhaled noisily. Of course, the last person they'd entrusted the comics too had become a half-vampire, but…

"What's up, bro?" Edgar called from his position on the ladder, his arms laden with boxes. Though he was two years younger than Alan, he'd already made more kills than his older brother, something that Alan was openly jealous of.

"Where do we start, Edgar?" Alan asked quietly. "I mean, the situation is ten times worse than when the Emersons came here."

"I know," Edgar growled. "And now this tall guy is trying to turn people out in the open! This is a lot more serious! Alan, do you think that maybe…?"

"Yeah?" Last time Edgar had said something like this, he'd suggested recruiting Sam Emerson as a vampire hunter.

_Great idea, Ed. Look where Sam ended up…we can't even see him anymore._

"Do you think that we could ever find a _Batman _number fourteen?"

Alan relaxed. His brother hadn't raised the issue that he'd been afraid of.

Santa Carla really didn't need any more vampires, and certainly not ones that were small and innocent-looking- was that kid even ten years old?

He shuddered.

**XxX**

If she'd thought the outside of Sizzlers' was bad, the interior was ten times worse. She supposed, if you got rid of the huge cloud of cigarette smoke, the drunken bikers lying on the floor amongst stamped-out cigarettes, greasy food, and- holy cow, was that _puke?- _it might have been okay, cosy even.

It was this kind of cheap, greasy place that Whitney usually avoided. It was a miracle that she didn't lose whatever remained in her stomach on the spot- the smell was that bad.

She wanted to be anywhere but here, but some part of her- she wasn't sure which- told her to stay here, because she was in the right place. Curiously, her stomach didn't hurt so much anymore- well, aside from feeling queasy.

_Whitney. Over here._

Wincing slightly, she turned in the general direction the voice seemed to be coming from. A small booth in the corner of the store.

Without hesitation, she began making her way over there, her heart in her throat. She wasn't sure what to expect- she still wasn't entirely sure that she _wasn't _crazy.

But, when she reached the booth, there was no-one there. Her heart sinking slightly, she shook her head, and turned to leave.

"Where do you think you're going?" Someone snapped, beside her ear. Letting out a small shriek, she spun around, and nearly collided with the white-haired teenager she'd seen two days ago. He was leaning against the booth she'd sworn had been vacant not two seconds ago, his mouth pulled into a smirk, his blue eyes- how had she not noticed how _blue _they were before?- sparkling with mirth. Like before, he was dressed entirely in black, and his skin appeared almost translucent in the smoky haze. Behind him, she could make out three other figures, two of them tall and imposing, the third almost a head shorter than the rest. "Still think you're going crazy, Whitney?" he drawled.

Her mouth worked, but no words came out. He waited almost patiently for her to speak, and finally, she managed it. "But, _how-" _

"Never mind _how, _babe," the tall, blonde one said. With his tight white jeans, mesh shirt, and leather jacket, he kind of reminded her of Twisted Sister. "Just go with it." He grinned, and she did not fail to notice that he had a nice smile. "Trust me, it's better if you do."

"Don't listen to Paul," the shorter blonde said from behind a gloved hand, eyes sparkling mischievously. "He's full of shit."

The one called Paul lost his smile instantly. "Hey, not cool, man!" he protested.

The dark-haired one who looked vaguely native American, as well as the first teenager, ignored them. The boy with the platinum hair was watching her intently, the smirk still playing at his lips. Then he raised a gloved hand.

"You're not crazy," he repeated, somehow saying it aloud, yet the words echoed inside of her mind as well, "We're flesh and blood, Whitney. And we've been waiting for you."

It suddenly occurred to her that they knew her name. And yet she'd never spoken a word to them- hell, she'd only seen them twice, once at the video store, and that other time at the party.

Wait- _the party…_

"Did you _poison _me?" she nearly shrieked, loud enough to startle the drunken bum at their feet into reluctant consciousness. "Is that why I'm so sick?!"

"Be quiet," he snapped, and his vice was so cold that she shivered, suddenly afraid. He suddenly gripped her by the shoulders, and, with a speed that bedazzled her, swept her roughly into the booth. Paul slid in beside her, and gave her a grin. The native American settled in beside Paul, and the leader sat across from her, the short boy beside him. Whit shuddered; they felt _cold-_ so, so cold. But they were having none of that. The leader's gloved hand pushed her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

"No, we didn't poison you," he said quietly, so that the waitress passing by didn't hear. "Far from it, actually. We've come to help you."

"Help me?" Whitney repeated. "I don't even know who you people _are." _

He her face go, and that smirk appeared again. "Fair enough. I'm David. You already know Paul. Beside him is Dwayne, and beside _me _is Marko. Okay?"

"Okay," she murmured. She was terrified out of her wits, and yet…she didn't want to leave. She hadn't the faintest idea _why, _but she felt…well, _whole _with these people.

David's smirk grew wider, and Paul and Marko snickered. Dwayne remained silent. "Have you been feeling sick lately, Whitney?" David asked quietly, his eyes knowing. Paul and Marko's shenanigans ceased, and they too watched her with an intensity that frightened her. "Hungry all the time? Feeling weak- even sick in the sunlight?"

How did they _know all this? _Had they been watching her?

Even as that question rose to her lips, the answer came to her. No. They hadn't been. At least, not during the daytime- she'd only ever seen them during the night.

David took her widening of the eyes, the sudden loss of warmth in her cheeks for a confirmation, and he nodded silently. Marko grinned, a true _you wish you knew what I knew _kind of grin, and it was quickly hidden behind his hand. "I have a way to fix that, Whitney. It's quick and painless- and trust me, you'll feel better."

Now all of them wore the same kind of grin as Marko. It was unnerving.

She'd only just met these people, people who'd seemed creepy as hell when she'd first seen them in that video store, harassing a little boy by the gumball machine, but she _really _wanted a way out of this sickness. It was hell- waking up every morning, and feeling like you were just about to burn up, never being able to eat because your stomach felt so queasy, having to wear sunglasses even inside- being constantly _thirsty, _the constant clenching of her stomach. The gnawing hunger that simply refused to leave her be, and well, she was sick of it.

_You'll be fine, girl. You can trust us. _Paul's words helped her relax, at least a little bit. For a hooligan, he seemed so…normal.

Whitney exhaled noisily. "How?" she asked finally.

David's grin grew wider. "Come for a ride with us."

**XxX**

They could tell that Whitney was glad to be getting out of Sizzlers'- it smelt, and looked, like shit. She also had a feeling that the staff at Sizzlers' were more than happy to see the backs of them leaving- while she felt relatively safe with them, (God knew _why, _though), she knew that they intimidated most people. Whether it was how they looked, or the air of quiet menace that they all, but especially David, exuded, she wasn't sure.

She followed the boys obediently, her face pale. It was a good thing that they'd decided to intervene tonight, David thought to himself. Although there was no getting rid of the telepathic bond between vampires, he could effectively 'block out' or 'haze' some of his thoughts, so that the other Boys would find it difficult to know what he was thinking. Two days into the transformation, and already she looked like a walking corpse- and not in the sense that she looked like them. More like she was ready to fall over and die at any moment. Her body was borderline emaciated; she wouldn't last another damned day, and it would be a fucking miracle if she did.

Her hunger flowed clearly through the bond, even at this stage, and, even though he'd fed yesterday, he felt weakness pool in his knees, weakness that would surely spread until he fed again. He scowled inwardly, and through the bond, he felt his brothers groan as well.

"Where are we going?" she asked timidly. Paul, who, for some reason, was taking the leadership role in the situation, chuckled.

"Don't sweat it, _chère,"_ he said, touching her shoulder gently. Before he could haze it over, a rush of warmth rushed through the bond- he genuinely felt something akin to affection for her. "We're just going for a ride."

Something about his authority being temporarily taken away from him irked David. When Whitney wasn't looking, he shot Paul a look that promised trouble if he kept the act up.

The Boys mounted their bikes. Whitney stood there, looking lost. _Max really knows how to pick 'em, _Dwayne remarked dryly, hazing it so she wouldn't 'hear'. Her 'hearing' was oddly sharp for a half-vampire.

David chuckled to himself. "Come sit with me, Whitney," he ordered, deliberately making his voice cold. He took some satisfaction in the fact that he could make her shiver. Sensing her fear, he let his mouth twist into a smirk.

"You don't have to do anything impressive, Whitney. You just have to try and hold on."

Looking uncertain, she mounted the bike, sliding her arms around his waist.

Then they were zooming into the darkness, their bikes snarling beneath them.

**XxX**

She wasn't sure how she managed to hold on- or not upchuck. The bike felt unstable beneath her, and David felt like a solid block of ice. At any moment, she expected her arms to slide off from him, and fall off the bike, and be left to die in the wilderness like an animal.

Thankfully, none of that happened. As she sat behind David, her arms locked around his waist in a vicegrip, her hair whipping against her face, she had a sudden feeling that this was the right thing to be doing. Yes, she was sneaking around her parents' back, wandering around town at night, and going for a ride with guys she hardly knew- but it felt _right. _

At last, though, the bikes came to a stop... on the edge of a cliff, of all places! Whitney felt a stirring of apprehension- she hated heights. She even avoided rides on the Boardwalk that seemed too high up for her. The Boys seemed unfazed, though, unfolded themselves gracefully, exchanging smirks with one another, and after a moment, Whitney managed to pry her arms away from David, and get off the bike, her tread unsteady. David caught her arm. "Don't fall over," he murmured, his expression serious, but his eyes practically dancing with hidden laughter. "We need you alive and upright."

Marko made a noise that was halfway between a choke and a laugh, and he grinned that Cheshire cat grin again, looking less and less like a little boy and more like a hungry predator up to now good.

His arm still on hers, they began to pace around the edge of the cliff, Marko and Paul messing around, pretending to shove each other off the cliff, and then falling back on it at the last second. Dwayne simply stood, and pulled out a cigarette. Lighting it, he began to smoke lazily, not once taking his eyes off David and Whitney.

"What's going on?" she asked timidly. David laughed, and for a second, he looked very young.

"Whitney wants to know what's going on!" he chuckled, seeming to take more amusement out of the question than was absolutely necessary- he was cracking himself up. Regaining his composure, he grinned at Marko. "Marko- what's going on?"

"I dunno," Marko said impishly, and poked Paul in the shoulder playfully. "What's going on, Paul?"

"Wait," Paul snickered, "Who wants to know?"

"Whitney wants to know," Dwayne murmured, and all four of them erupted into laughter that was so contagious that Whitney couldn't help but join in, even though she was certain that they were laughing at _her. _

"Well," David began, and his face was suddenly serious again, "I guess we should tell Whitney what's going on."

The boys all made an assent of agreement. David slung an arm around Whitney, unmindful of the fact that to her, he felt like ice. "Whitney, we know why you're feeling the way you do- the hunger, the weakness to sunlight…the bad breath." And they all chuckled to themselves once again. Whitney flushed. She hadn't thought that her breath smelled bad, but…

"Don't worry, babe, _we _don't think it smells bad," Paul said honestly, pulling out his own cigarette.

"Not bad at all," Marko agreed.

"But humans do, because they're not used to being around someone like you," David finished smoothly, his eyes calculating, like he was waiting for her reaction.

"Wait a second- are you telling me I'm not human?" Whitney demanded incredulously. What the hell were they telling her?! This was some kind of sick joke, wasn't it?

For a moment, she wondered if they _hadn't _poisoned her, and were just screwing with her mind.

"That's exactly what we're telling you," David said seriously, raising an eyebrow, silently challenging her. _We're not bullshitting you, Whitney. _"You stopped being human a few days ago- when you drank the blood."

"I didn't drink any blood," she argued, and try to pry herself away from David. No such luck. He had a tight grip on her, and he wasn't letting her go anytime soon. "Someone spiked my punch."

"But how do you know it was punch?" he asked her quietly. "Did you take the time to look at it?"

"Well…no…"

"That was your first mistake," David said, sounding tired. "You never take anything from Max without checking it first." For a moment, she thought she saw pain in those hypnotic blue eyes of his- but then he blinked, and it was gone. He leaned toward her, drawing her in with those eyes of his, and when he spoke next, ridiculous as it sounded, she knew that he was telling her the truth. "You drank blood, Whitney, and that's what's making you sick like this. If you leave it untreated, you _will _die."

She trembled. "How do I fix myself?" she whispered.

He told her, and she screamed. She couldn't help it. This was just too much for her. She'd thought she'd love Santa Carla, and be outside every day- but now, she was forced to cower in her room, always hungry, but not for food, and now she'd just been told that if she wanted to ever feel better, she had to kill someone, and drink their blood, to replace the blood that she was slowly but surely losing as part of the transformation.

She wouldn't be able to live. She'd have to stay inside for the rest of her life.

And her family- what would she do without her family? Rob would miss her- she'd miss _him. _Andrea had been there for her for seventeen years, and Chris, despite his faults, was mostly a good guy. She didn't seriously think that she could live without them- her family were her _life. _

**XxX**

_This could be a problem, _Dwayne muttered through the bond. _We hadn't counted on her having a family._

_Max isn't interested in Whitney's family, _Marko added. _We can't do what we tried with Michael. _

_Don't even __**mention **__that name to me, _David snapped, and then sighed. _This is a bitch._

_Tell me about it, _Dwayne grumbled.

Paul was the only one stupid enough to question David. Aside from Whitney, he was the youngest vampire out of them all. _So what are we gonna do, David? We can't kill her family- although I kind of want to._

_Try it, _Dwayne sneered. _Max would rip your head off. _

Whitney stared at them, wide-eyed, hands clapped over her mouth. She couldn't 'hear' them, but she was smart enough to know that they were talking about her. A rush of inspiration suddenly hit David, and he smiled. He tightened his grip on the girl.

"You don't want to hurt your family, do you?" he asked her quietly. She shook her head furiously, still looking scared shitless. "You're hurting them, by letting the sickness take you like this. They don't want to see you slowly waste away, Whitney. Just do what we say, and you'll feel better. Your family won't have to hurt anymore."

_What are you doing, David? _Paul sounded alarmed.

_Improvising, _David muttered.

"You don't want to hurt your family, right, Whitney?"

"No," she whispered. "My family means everything to me."

"Then stop hurting them!" he shouted suddenly. "Do what we say, and everything will be okay. I promise."

He walked her over to the cliff. Below them, the ocean crashed and roared furiously, sending spray over the rocks. It was black and foul and ugly- the sort of shit that the Surf Nazis liked hanging around in.

He felt her relent before the words came out. "I…okay. All right."

David grinned. "Great! There's just one thing we have to do before we can fix you."

"What's that?"

David smiled, and for a moment, she thought that his eyes flashed crimson. "Kill you, of course."

Then he threw her off the cliff.


	7. Chapter 7

There was an instant uproar.

_What the hell are you doing, man?! _Paul screeched, making all three Boys wince. The vampire in question leapt towards the edge of the cliff, his blue eyes wild. _Are you insane?! Max'll __**kill **__us! _

Even Dwayne was startled out his stupor. David was never usually this abrupt…

_I'm not __**really **__killing her, _the blonde vampire snapped through the bond, not caring whether Whitney heard them or not, _Like I said before, I'm improvising. _

It was then that David took a flying leap off the cliff, and into the swirling abyss below.

**XxX**

Incredibly, as she plummeted through the chilly night air, Whitney felt a laugh bubble in the base of her throat. For some queer reason, even though she was well aware that she was falling towards her almost certain death (or at least grievous injury), she didn't feel afraid.

In fact, if she were completely honest with herself, she felt…excited.

Like she was on a rollercoaster plummeting downwards, and she felt that same adrenaline rush, that same bolt of furious energy jerk through her body. It felt…great.

As the black, crashing sea below beckoned to her with dripping fingers, Whitney laughed. She wasn't in the least bit afraid; in fact, she felt a lot better than she had in a long time! True, she still felt sick to her stomach, and painfully weak, but this fall…this adrenaline rush, made her feel _alive. _

_Hold tight, babe! _Somehow, Paul was in her head. He sounded frightened. No- he _was _frightened. Whitney frowned slightly. Why was he frightened? This was GREAT fun! In fact, she felt better than she had in a long time! So why was Paul frightened…? It made no sense to her, and, as she continued her descent, she tried desperately to push Paul's thoughts away.

It didn't work.

If anything, that strange bond that connected their minds together got stronger. For a brief second, she saw herself through Paul's eyes: tumbling down through the darkness, unable to stop herself, landing hard on the rocky beach below. Limbs bent at strange angles. Blood pooling underneath her-

It was then, halfway down the cliff, that she felt a stirring of fear inside her. That fear, emerging from her gut, reached up with icy hands and wound themselves around her heart- a heart, she realised sickly, that was beating too fast to be any good for her. She could _feel _the rapid beating, the frantic pounding of her heart. A heart that was almost surely about to die.

She screamed, all traces of joy now gone. What the hell was she _doing? _The ocean was rushing towards her, its arms held open, wanting her to fall into its watery embrace. Her heart was skipping in her chest- it didn't seem normal, her heart to pound that fast without it eventually combusting.

She saw it happen in her mind's eye- she'd heard that you were meant to see your life flash before your eyes the moment before your death, but for Whitney, it was her own heart exploding violently, unable to cope with the stress that she had put it through. The red organ, in her mind, burst, and blood sprayed as if from a hose- thick, red, and salty…

Her stomach pulled, and she groaned. _Blood…_it was insanity, but she was craving it again, _needing _it, like a drowning person would need air. It started in her gut, and it rose, up and up, to her throat, to the point that blood was all she can think about, even with her impending doom rushing towards her. She gripped her throat and screamed again.

"I'm going to-!"

She thought she saw something out of the corner of her eye. Something large and black, swooping beneath her. Were there _bats _near here?

As she was about to slip into her watery grave, a pair of arms caught her. All the air in her lungs seemed to evaporate rapidly, and soon, she was gasping for air, crying weakly, her throat still screaming. Her body shuddered uncontrollably, and she was reminded of that night where she'd passed out at Star's party. That night, really, when everything had started.

Sudden, liquid movement to her left. She flicked her head in that direction, scared, but it was only Paul. A moment later, and he was joined by Dwayne and Marko. Dwayne was still smoking. Whitney stared at the sea churning several feet below her, and it took several moments for her to realise that all five of them were levitating.

"What the-" she started to say, feeling sick and dizzy and not even sure if what she was seeing was _real, _but Paul beat her to it.

"What the hell was that, man?!" He roared, his features twisted with anger. Whitney stared at him- had his eyes just flashed _red?_

David, who still had Whitney in his iron grip, was more composed. "Like I said, improvising," he said icily, "I wasn't going to let her die." _If you must know, Paul, I was testing her. _This last part he deliberately hazed over, so that even Marko and Dwayne couldn't 'hear'. You could do that, if you focused solely on the one vampire you wanted to talk to. But it took a lot of energy, and often David had to feed afterwards if he used this excessively. One of the many drawbacks of being a vampire, he supposed. Not that he really cared.

_You've got a hell of a way of showing it, man, _Paul grumbled.

_Is she gonna be okay? _Marko asked, taking in her dazed, exhausted expression. Before he could haze it over, he made it clear to everyone that she looked like death. Or someone on their death bed. Paul scowled through the bond. He didn't particularly like that description of Whitney, accurate though it was.

_She better be, _David growled.

Whitney gasped. It was all coming back to her now.

_("You don't want to hurt your family, right, Whitney?") _

_("No. My family means everything to me.") _

_("There's just one thing we have to do…") _

_("What's that?") _

_("Kill you, of course.")_

David. It had been David. David had thrown her off the cliff- had almost killed her. This had been David's fault. She stared at him blankly for a few moments, and then began writhing in his grasp, pummelling him with his fists. Marko and Dwayne started forward, but one look from David stopped them in their tracks. "You tried to kill me!" she shrieked, ignoring her throat's violent protest. Despite her emaciated body, she fought tooth and nail to put a dent in that smug, icy face. But even though she hit him many times, she somehow knew that she wasn't hurting him. In fact, he was smirking. "Why, David, _why?" _

"Why?" he asked her, his blue eyes dancing with laughter, "Because it was fun."

"_Fun?!" _she asked hoarsely, her sore throat winning the battle at last, _"Fun?"_

David's eyes bored into her own, until it was all she could see. His eyes were like two shards of ice. "Yeah, Whitney, it was fun." He grinned wolfishly. "You felt it too, huh? For a second there, you were laughing, Whitney. You were having fun."

It was true. For a second, she had felt…_free. _She wasn't going to admit that, though. Not that it seemed to make any difference. David's grin grew wider. "So. You're not such a washout after all," was his only remark. She raised an eyebrow, puzzled. Paul shrugged, looking just as mystified as she did.

Feeling warmth creep into her face, she said heatedly, "I didn't know vampires could levitate." Was that the word David and the others had used to describe themselves? Whitney couldn't remember, but 'vampire' seemed like the most adequate word.

"Don't be stupid," David snapped, confirming her suspicions, "Of course we can."

"Floating's just a small part of it," Marko chipped in, an impish grin making itself known on his baby face.

"It's so much better once you're one of us, babe," Paul crowed, "A fall like that won't do shit to ya!"

This sounded all very well and good, but Whitney could barely concentrate. Her throat was _killing _her! Literally, if what David and the others said was true. It was like a harsh desert, her throat, and needed constant nourishment. Drinking water or any other liquid didn't seem to help- but there was ONE thing she hadn't tried yet…

_Blood. Warm, wet, dripping-_

"Ugh," she groaned, her stomach actually growling in protest. She felt weak at the knees, and was actually grateful that David was holding her up- otherwise she'd fall into the ocean for sure. "I'm so-"

"Thirsty?" David asked dryly. Whilst they'd been talking, she hadn't realised that they'd been slowly but surely rising. They were now level with the cliff itself, and, just like that, David stepped onto it like it was something he did every day. Who knows, maybe it was. She felt earth beneath her feet, and though she should have been surprised, too much had happened too quickly for her to be scared anymore. The only emotion she had left in her right now was a burning thirst that had to be sated.

Except that she didn't want to sate her thirst- because that meant someone would die.

"A little," she admitted. The Boys sniggered amongst themselves. David still had his arms around her, but not in such a way that made her uncomfortable. In anything, it kind of reminded her the way in how Chris had held her that night…that NIGHT.

David grinned. "Well, Boys," he said, his voice stiff with authority once more, "Looks like we're taking someone out for a drink."

"I- _no-" _

"Do not defy me." David's voice was cold, so cold that it made her think of icy corpses, "Or I'll tell Max that you won't feed." An internal shudder ran through the four boys at this comment. Whitney frowned. Max- the man who gave her the punch? How was he connected to all this? David had said that she'd drunk Max's blood, but she still wasn't entirely sure that she believed that…

"Max?" she asked.

"Yes," was all David would say on the matter. His facial expression made it clear that no more questions were to be asked. The four boys- _vampires- _began trooping back towards their bikes, which sat forlornly a little way from the cliff edge. Once again, David indicated that she was to ride with him. She slid in behind him, and reluctantly curled her arms around his waist, icy even through the leather. She could not believe she was doing this. Was she really hanging out with four monsters, one of which had tried to kill her?

Yes, she really was. Her throat hurt too much to protest, and it wasn't like she could protest anyway. David exuded a somewhat menacing air; despite appearing nineteen at the oldest, he gave the impression of great power and authority. He wasn't the kind of person you'd want to disappoint, or get on their bad side. Yet…something inside of her was pulling her towards him, almost as if she was drawn to him. She couldn't say why, but leaving him felt- well, _wrong. _It wasn't in the least physical attraction, for she looked like the walking dead (she had seen this rather disturbing image, for the briefest second, in Marko's mind), and he, of course, was perfect. No, it was something deeper than that.

Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Well, Boys," David said smoothly, kicking his bike deftly into life, "Drinks are on the house."

"Woo, momma!" Paul screamed delightedly, "I'm thirsty, man!"

"You're an idiot," Marko commented. Dwayne exhaled slowly and rolled his eyes, as stoic as ever.

"We drinking together, man?" Paul asked, all of them ready to go, their bikes snarling beneath them eagerly. David shook his head.

"I will take Whitney for her first feeding. You will feed separately," he commanded. The three underlings nodded meekly, and then spun around, their wheels kicking dirt up into the air, and roaring into the darkness.

David chuckled. He could sense her fear, her lust. "Ready, Whitney?" he murmured. She shrugged. "I'll take that as a yes, then."

And the two of them raced into the billowing blackness, Whitney's heart growing weaker by the minute.

**XxX**

Rob woke up suddenly, frightened out of his slumber. His ash-blonde hair was plastered to his face, his eyes wide with horror, and his mouth wide open in an almost-comical O shape of terror. His sheets were soaked through with sweat. His arms were covered in goosebumps, and his hands were trembling slightly. He'd risen from a nightmare.

What a terrible, terrible dream.

"W-Whitney," he choked, spittle flying from his mouth, and that was the cause of all his worry right there, yes, he was worried about Whitney. Somehow, he hadn't the faintest idea HOW, but he knew there was something wrong with Whitney.

She wasn't here.

She was…dying.

Or she had been. In his dream. A vampire had gotten her, one with white hair, and he was biting her, driving his demon fangs into her pretty neck. Her eyes had been wide with surprise, and her mouth open in a silent scream. Blood spurted out like a fountain. As he'd watched, frozen, utterly unable to move, or even speak, Rob had watched his sister die, saw her pretty face grow slack, her movements weakening. Finally, her hand dropped to the ground, lifeless. Her brown eyes saw without seeing.

And the blonde vampire threw back his head and laughed, laughed for what seemed an eternity, with his sister's blood dripping from his lips, and it was that image that jerked the boy from his sleep; he had awoken with the teenage vampire's deep chuckle still ringing in his ears.

"Sis…" he whispered, utterly afraid for his older sister. At that moment, he looked not ten but twenty- his fear had aged his childlike features harshly. Nothing bad had happened to her yet, but it was going to- and soon.

If Rob didn't do something, she may very well die. The vampires would get her. She thought that he was just kidding around, that he was just a kid, but he knew better. The Frog brothers had told him so. Santa Carla was crawling with vamps, and now they were after his sister.

He kicked his Kermit the Frog covers off, stumbled out of bed, and wiped the last of his salty tears from his cheeks.

"Sis…" he whimpered, and took out the comic book that the Frog brothers had given him. _Killer Vampires. _On the back was a hastily-scrawled number written in crayon. "I love you," he said, and went to make a phone call.

**XxX**

Her body was dying.

Whitney knew that much. She could feel her body slowly shutting down. Yet her thirst- her thirst for _blood- _rapidly became more panicked, more desperate. As she clutched David for dear life as he manoeuvred through the dark forest, her throat began to scream. It was not a dry desert anymore, but a rocky outcrop, devoid of any life. The sharp stones dragged down her throat and it was like she was swallowing glass, and she opened her mouth and she _screamed, _she _screamed, _because it hurt, hurt so much, and as her heart began to skip in light arrhythmia, she didn't care that someone might die. All she wanted was for the pain to end. Stones were rasping across the delicate flesh of her throat- and it hurt like hell.

"David-" she choked, unable to say anymore.

She thought she heard him groan. "I know," he growled, and the motorbike bellowed, roaring along faster than she thought humanely possible. But of course, David wasn't human. It suddenly occurred to her that she might very well die, and suddenly all she wanted was to live. Even if that meant becoming a child of the night. At least then, she figured, as she rasped and choked like a wild animal, she would be able to see her family.

_From a distance, if that, _David snapped.

She blinked. What…?

"We're getting close now," David yelled above the roar of the motorbike, "Get ready, Whitney!"

"I don't know how," she said miserably, but he ignored that. They were approaching the outskirts of Santa Carla. Dimly she could see Sizzler's in the distance. Whitney stared ahead apprehensively, wondering if they were going to barge into town and take the first drunken bum they saw, but he surprised her, and veered off to the left, still very much in Santa Carla, but away from the hustle and bustle of the main streets.

Her heart began to skip again, and she mewled softly, her throat blistering and swollen, even as her heart was rapidly running its way into heart-attack-country. It was not a nice feeling. She had a tight feeling in her chest that would not go away, and she wondered if she wouldn't die here.

David stopped the bike abruptly, so much so that if she were not holding him tightly, she would have been flung off. "Here," he said simply, and unwound her emaciated arms from his waist. Unfolding himself from the bike like some gigantic, graceful bat, he plucked her from it like she weighed nothing. Probably she didn't. "This is a suitable place for your first feed."

They were in the Bad Part of town. Here, those who lived in houses were in ones that were little better than trailers. Rubbish and shells of cars were strewn across front yards. Empty bottles, cigarette butts, and the odd syringe littered the gutters. They were bins, sure, but they were full and overflowing. Streetlights were either broken or on their last legs, making it difficult to see for even a regular person. There were a lot of homeless people. All were asleep at this hour, holed up in doorways, next to bins, or even inside the empty car shells. One fellow had even managed to fall asleep in the gutter, surrounded in rubbish and clutching a filthy bear for dear life.

David nodded at the homeless. "Take your pick," he said lazily, making it sound as though she were picking a meal from a menu and not a murder victim, "All tastes the same here."

She blinked, startled even out of her pain. "What- anyone?"

He raised an eyebrow. "They're not going to be missed," he drawled, "Go ahead, Whitney. I'll be right here." As he said this, he drew out a cigarette and began to smoke it, his eyes appraising. When she didn't move, he sighed and stuck the cigarette in his mouth. "Doesn't matter who, Whitney," he growled. "Pick one or die."

Well, it had really come to it, then. She approached the boy sleeping in the gutter. Up close, she saw that he couldn't be any older than eleven; he had fair hair and a face full of freckles. She knelt down by him, and her stomach pulled, not just twinged but _pulled, _and she suddenly knew that this boy was going to die- even as she knelt there, in the semi-darkness, she could see the flush of red on his cheeks. Her stomach actually growled, and David stifled a grin. _Blood….warm, wet….dripping…_

This little boy had what she so desperately needed and wanted, and yet…

"What do I do?" she asked David, who was now standing directly behind her, his cigarette gone.

"You have to let yourself go," he said, his voice strangely comforting, "Leave the human behind. Become one of us, Whitney. Let your thirst take over. Do not be afraid."

In her mind, he showed her, and it was terrifying. In her mind, through the bond, she saw his face transform, saw his cheeks elongate and become much more prominent, saw his icy-blue eyes dissolve and become a fiery red, saw his canines twist and warp into fangs. Through her mind's eye, he went through the transformation, and bit deep into the human's neck, sucking greedily from the wound as though it were chocolate milk.

_Leave the human behind, Whitney. Let it go. _

She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply.

_Let your thirst take over._

All her attention was now on her searing throat, that rocky outcrop with no signs of life. Abruptly she envisioned what it could be- lush, rolling green hills, vibrant and full of life. That could only happen if she did one thing.

_Become one of us…_

Her mouth began to water. _Blood… _

_You are one of us, Whitney. Let the human go._

She felt something rise up inside her. Something strong. Something powerful. A low growl escaped her- it sounded anything but human. That animalistic being was inside her, rising up and up, consuming every particle of her- her humanity. The feeling grew so strong that she rather thought she could rise up, up off the ground, if she really wanted to. Magic was at work here.

Something sharp brushed against her lips. Fangs. She had fangs. She licked one gently, felt the point against her leathery tongue. Yep, those were fangs, all right. Strangely she was not afraid. Just thirsty.

_**Become one of us! **_

She opened her eyes. She was breathing heavily. She looked down once more at the little boy, no longer seeing him as a person. He was just a meal, hardly missed in this lower-class community. She smoothed his hair back gently, just once, and she saw that her fingers had become elongated, the nails pointed. "I'm sorry," she whispered through her new mouth, and brought her lips to his neck. Perhaps he was a very deep sleeper, or simply drugged, for he did not stir even once as she turned a gentle kiss into a bite of savagery. All conscious thought disappeared as she drank; the fire was burning, and she needed to put it out.

What she felt as soon as the first drop of blood touched her blazing throat was nearly orgasmic. Her body quivered, as she lapped the life out of the small child, feeling her strength returning almost immediately. Her heart was no longer skipping- in fact, it had long since grown still. She felt powerful.

All at once, her mind was alive with not just her own conscience, but four other streams of thought she knew belonged to the Boys. This was the true meaning of the word 'bond'- she saw the world not only as she saw it, but as the others did too. Through David's mind she saw herself drinking from the child- she shuddered delicately at how animalistic she looked and dropped out of his 'stream' immediately. It was bizarre, but felt normal. In fact, it made so much sense now- that was how the Boys had called to her tonight…through the bond. But now it was stronger than it ever had been.

The child had long-since died, and Whitney, sensing that there was no blood left, got up from the ground slowly. Her body felt a thousand times better than before. Her throat felt normal again, her heart was still. The pain behind her eyes was gone, a thousand times gone.

"Congratulations, Whitney," David drawled, having resumed his smoking, "You're now a fully-fledged vampire. Feeling any better?"

She nodded, staring at her hands. They were soft and delicate now. She raised a hand to her mouth, and the teeth that had been so adept at tearing holes into flesh were now gone. She was willing to bet that her eyes (if anything had happened to them) were normal once again.

_Woohoo! Nice one, babe! _Paul hooted through the bond, as though he were right next to her, _Now maybe life won't be so boring anymore!_

_Shut up, Paul, _David snapped, though his eyes were twinkling, _Someone's got to teach her what it means to be a vamp, and if you don't quit yapping, it'll be you._

_Hey, congrats, _Marko said, ignoring Paul entirely. Whitney dumbly saw his face form a sly grin through the bond. This was confusing- her mind was alive with thoughts that weren't her own!

_Welcome, _Dwayne said simply. He was a vampire of few words.

_Ain't that the truth, sister! _Paul shouted, and she winced, as though he'd actually leant over and screamed in her ear.

David shook her shoulder gently. "That's enough for now," he muttered, but her mind was still buzzing with the thoughts of three other vampires, so he helped her, with his own mind. Suddenly the voices were dulled to a whisper. "I need you focused here, Whitney."

"H-huh?" she asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he replied, stamping out his cigarette. It was indistinguishable from the rest once it hit the ground. "I just need you to clean up, that's all."

"Clean up?"

"Well, yes," he growled, eyes flashing briefly crimson, "I need you to bury the body."


End file.
